Of Wind and Rain: A Lifetime of Flame
by Arethusa the Nymph
Summary: Fire is destruction. It is passion, confusion and discrepancy. How will fire affect one girl's life? Follow her remarkable journey through the flames as she discovers herself, romance, and a heck of a lot of cooking.
1. Bright Beginnings

**Okay.**

After much deleting and re-editing and the evil computer destroying the lovely monologue I had prepared for you, I have decided to throw all caution to the wind and post this fiction without any ado.

Thus, here I am, **finally** posting a story on the site of which I have been a member for who-knows-how-long without posting a _single thing_.

I hope it turns out well!

Anyways, this is the prologue to my first **Avatar: The Last Airbender** fic, Of Wind and Rain.

Enjoy!

Keep in mind that all original characters are mine, and aside from the respective ATLA places, people, and creatures and -bendings, **I** own **everything** else.

I have stolen **nothing! **It simply goes against my morals as both a person and a writer to steal!

What's the point of writing if you can't depend on your own thoughts and inspirations?

Therefore, the original characters, ideas, and plot events come STRICTLY from my mind, and if they are similar to anything you've read before, it's due to nothing more than coincidence!

That being said, please do not steal my work.

**ENJOY!**

**--------------**

**Prologue **

One moment, the emerald and jade of gossamer leaves—the next, the blue of a cloudless sky. Tiny wyverns fluttered amongst the birds; miniature dragons with delicate wings and chirps instead of growls. They perched on the scattered remnants of what once was a mighty city, preening in the shimmering smile of the sun. Rolling hills undulated beneath them, snaking under the glittering blades of grass. Yet this was a place of outcasts. Somehow, although it had once been grand, this place had grown forsaken, forgotten, in the shadow of the mighty Golden City, Rihirramen. The Twin Villages, Lasahn and Nazahn, shunned from the City, were hidden beneath the hills among oases and groves. But although they were isolated, they were filled with a blessed peace, and all who dwelt there knew that their time was indeed grand—grander even than the great Golden City.

A sudden laugh rang through the air, sending the wyverns aflutter in a rush of nervous wings. Another joined, as two young peasants pried their way through prickle-bushes, heedless of anything but their joy.

"Nira, where are we going?" 

"Hold on, Airlia, you'll see…" A blonde girl with a flushed face full of freckles crashed out from the brush and into the ruined site. She looked around merrily, her hazel eyes sparkling. "Here! Here we are!"

A second girl, olive in complexion, stumbled out into the open. Her short bark-and-chestnut curls askew, she tripped over a protruding boulder and scraped up her knee. She groaned and pulled herself up, wiping dirt from her leg.

"Nira! Look what you made me do! My mother's going to be angry…" Nira looked at her.

"Oh, it'll be okay. Your mother never gets mad." Airlia's bright brown eyes grew wide.

"Yes she does! Remember the cookies?" Nira thought for a moment. They looked at each other. Both girls giggled.

"I hope this doesn't end up like the cookies!" Airlia smiled, looking around. She frowned when she finally realized where they were, crossing her arms against her chest.

"Oh, no! We're at the ruins, Nira! We ALWAYS come here! Why did we come here?" Nira giggled again, her eyes sparkling.

"You'll see!" She grabbed Airlia's hand. "Follow me." Airlia sighed.

"Do I have a choice?" They wove through boulders and pieces of old columns. Passing the shrub-flowers, and the berry patch, Nira dragged her friend along until Airlia thought her arm would fall off. Finally, when they reached a patch of particularly dense shrub-trees, growing around a surprisingly intact half-column, she released her, and pressed a cautious finger to her lips.

"Shhh! We don't want to scare them off…" Airlia opened her mouth to question, but Nira stopped her with a stern look. "You wanna see or not?"

"Yes," Airlia whispered.

"Then follow me." Nira tiptoed through the trees, peeling back the elastic branches. Airlia followed cautiously, her bare feet prickled by the leaves on the ground. Suddenly, Nira stopped. "There," she breathed, pointing. Airlia followed the line of her finger.

In a branch scarcely five feet away from them was a careful nest, constructed of fine strands of hay and feathers. Something that seemed to be mud held it sturdy at the bottom. Nothing happened for a moment. Then, in a rush of soft wings, a beautiful bird alighted on the edge of the nest, a lizard clutched in its talons. Airlia gasped quietly.

"Falcons!" Nira smiled.

"Yep." The adult left after it fed its wildly squawking and pecking young; Airlia gasped with delight every time a tiny beak poked above the rim of the nest. Once it was gone, the two girls crept quietly over and peered into the meticulous bowl of hay.

Three tawny heads stared back at them. A smile spread from ear to ear across Airlia's face.

"Aren't they beautiful, Nira?" Nira nodded.

"Yep." Suddenly, another head poked out of the downy blobs in the nest, cheeping loudly. The girls' eyes almost popped out of their heads.

"Nira, look!"

"I saw, I saw!"

"He's so pretty!" 

"Is it a boy?"

"Yep. The boys are white." 

"They're all so cute! I wish we could keep one." Nira looked at Airlia with sad eyes. Airlia turned to her slowly. 

"Maybe…we can…" Nira gasped.

"You mean…steal one? But the mother…" Airlia wagged a finger at her friend, her eyes glinting madly. She was plotting something. Nira just knew it.

"They can't count. This one's tiny, anyways. He might be the one they're going to throw out." She reached into the nest. "I'm taking him, anyways." The tiny birds ogled her hand in confusion, bobbing their heads. She scooped the baby boy into her hand, wincing as he dug his talons into her palm, frightened. Then, without warning, the two of them heard a wild cry behind them.

Nira and Airlia jumped away from the nest just in time to see the adult falcon veering wildly at them from the sky. They ran as fast as their legs could take them out of the shrubbery, expecting the parent to follow them. When it didn't, they took a calm breath, and examined the ball of fluff clutched almost too tightly against Airlia's chest.

He peeped and swayed dizzily, blinking up at them with enormous black eyes. The girls giggled. This summer might be fun after all. 

The mid-afternoon hustle and bustle of Nazahn was interrupted by a strange sound—a very loud, very irritated scream that came from behind a comfortable-looking hut at the edge of the village. Though it may have been startling to visitors, it was merely an everyday occurrence to the native folk here. Buyers continued haggling with merchants, children continued badgering with parents.

"Kukao, I've told you before, Vara hates it when people wake her up in the middle of a nap!" A tall girl wearing a greasy apron and looking about the age of sixteen emerged from behind the hut, chasing a ten-year-old boy with a rather mischievous look about him. While he was pink with mirth, she was flushed with anger; she was shaking a dirty cooking-rag at him. He ran down to the marketplace, howling with laughter. "Come back when you can behave, or else no supper!" She sighed breathlessly and flopped down on the packed earth. Presently, an enormous, fin-backed, two-legged serpent slithered out from behind the hut, curling up behind the girl. She didn't seem to notice or care. She rubbed her temples wearily. "Oh, Vara… How am I going to handle three more days of this?" The serpent hissed softly.

'I'm not sure if I can handle it, either, Airlia.' She spoke without moving her mouth. Her voice sounded like slow-moving water against rocks—soft and pleasant. Her large, moody eyes were glassy and tired. Airlia sighed again, frowning.

"Where's Kirivai?" Vara gave a snort and a great heave, and flopped on the ground as well. She closed her eyes. 

'How should I know? He's never around.' Airlia leant against Vara's neck.

"He'll come if you call him." 

'I'm too tired.' Airlia blinked lazily at the sunlight beaming on her apron. Something occurred to her; she jumped up and gave a great, exasperated moan.

"I forgot about Allia! She and Mari were supposed to come over here ages ago…" She stormed off down the dirt road. Vara gave a great, hissing sigh, heaved herself off of the ground, and slithered after her.

'I'll give you a ride, Lia.' Airlia turned with a grateful look in her weary eyes.  
"Thank you, Vara."

'You owe me.'

"I know."

Airlia was about sixteen now; that summer with the falcons was merely a merry memory—although it had earned her a valuable friend, Kirivai. Her birthday was coming in the Month of Jewels, and she was now expected to take on certain responsibilities, such as keeping her siblings for a week while her parents left to do business in Rihirramen. She had to watch Kukao and Allia, her rambunctious brother and sparkling sister, ten and eight years of age, respectively. Her older brother Murza was already nineteen—and very independent. He lived on the outskirts of Nazahn's twin village, Lasahn, with the town medicine man, Khaludier, learning the art of healing-craft. Khaludier was a great teacher, and a greater friend. Although he, like most of the other villagers in Nazahn and Lasahn, was originally a banished man, everyone had grown to love and respect him, as he was a man of contagious smiles and carefree attitude. In fact, everyone in both Lasahn and Nazahn was as kind as could be—a strange quality amongst those who had been exiled—and both villages were filled to the brim with the nicest people anyone could hope to meet. Airlia often thought that if the rest of the world were like her villages, there would be no more war, and no more heartache.

After passing Zora and Ruki's house, Airlia, atop the finserpent Vara, came to the edge of Nazahn. Across a field could be seen the outskirts of Lasahn, and a curl of smoke was rising from far west, towards the Great Forest. That was Khaludier's healing hut. Vara and Airlia, however, stopped at a sturdy-looking hut thatched with green palm branches. This was Berudo's house, father of Mari and Druko.

"Berudo?" Allia called. "Are you there?" A stern voice boomed in answer.

"Yes ma'am!" A tall, sturdy man, quite like to his home, emerged from a palm-mat door, his sweaty face smeared with soot. Pale blue eyes twinkled at Vara and Airlia. "What brings ye all the way down here?"

"I'm looking for Allia. Have you seen her?" Berudo squinted up at Airlia. He opened his mouth, but a voice very different met her ears—a smooth, confident voice.

"Yea, she's out back with Mari." Airlia felt her cheeks grow hot. Chills ran up her spine. She jerked violently around to meet the fine form of Druko. A nervous smile spread across her lips. She couldn't meet his eyes. 

"Erm, yea, thanks, Druko." She dug her heel into Vara's neck. "Move, Vara, let's get out of here…" she hissed. Vara sighed. Airlia kicked her. Her heart stopped when he spoke again. 

"No problem. You want me to take you to her?" She could have fainted. Her heart was pounding a million miles a minute in her chest. Should she take the chance?

"Uh, yea, sure, Druko." She swung herself off of Vara. Druko proffered an arm to help, but she effectively dodged it, afraid that her searing hot body would give up a secret almost everyone already knew. She looked up, cheeks hot, into the clear blue eyes of the boy she loved. He smiled.

"You seem a little nervous today, Airlia." She laughed a little too heartily. He didn't seem to notice.

"Aha, yea, I've had a bad day with Kukao, you know him." He chuckled.

"Yea, all too well." He turned to his father. She stared at the fine line of his jawbone and the perfection of his skin. His hair, golden and chestnut, rippled in a rare breeze. "I put the wood out back, Father." Berudo grinned at his son and winked.

"Don't do anything dishonorable, now." Druko laughed heartily—a sincere laugh. Airlia giggled a little. Even though Nira and Muri always talked about how conceited Druko was, she couldn't help but feel that he really was a true person. She was a little biased, though. Druko was, after all, her crush.

"Did you use earthbending?" she asked as they began walking, the question sounding absurd the minute it left her lips. Why had she even asked him? Druko, however, smiled again. He was so perfect.

"Of course. How else do you get the old trees to fall without hurting the young ones?" He knew her too well.

"You're just saying that." The two of them turned into the garden behind Berudo's house. The sounds of giggling, which could be heard on the other side of the house, were now much louder, and more frequent.

"And if I am?" Airlia boldly raised an eyebrow at Druko, feeling her cheeks grow violently hot as she did. My face must be red as fire, she thought.

"You might have a secret you don't want to tell me?" Druko stared at her, stopping.

"What kind of a secret?" The joke seemed to be over. Airlia stuttered, feeling her face grow even more flushed.

"Uh, well, I dunno, something…" His eyes bore into her face. _Oh great_, she thought. _He can see me blushing like a mad cherry_. He leaned in closer to her. Airlia's heart was racing so fast it was palpitating. Was he going to…?

"What—" Something ricocheted off the back of Druko's head. Ironically, it looked like a cherry. Airlia couldn't contain herself, and felt waves of laughter erupt from her mouth. It was Druko's turn to blush. He turned around to look for the culprit.

"Allia! You ruined it!" Frantic whispering emanated from behind the cherry trees and bushes on the eastern side of the house. Druko crashed over to the hidden spies. Two little girls, eight years of age in appearance, emerged, giggling like mad things. They began to dance and sing in a circle around both Druko and Airlia, although Airlia, who was in fits of laughter, was a good distance away from the cherry trees.

"DRUKO AND AIRLIA SITTING IN A TREE! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" At this, Airlia hiccupped and choked, turning blue.

"Wh-What?" Druko growled.

"Mari, stop it!" His little sister, a light-haired, twiggy thing, danced right up to him and smiled. 

"Whyyyy?" He glared at her. Allia giggled, her dark curls bouncing as she ran up to Airlia.

"He likes you," she whispered to her older sister. Airlia blushed furiously.

"Stop it, Allia. You know how much I hate it when you lie!"

"But Nira and Muri told me! He likes you." Airlia opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again.

"We have to go, Allia. It's dinnertime. If you want Mari to come, tell her we're riding Vara." Airlia winced when she realized what she'd said. 

"MAAAAAAAARI! WE'RE GOOOOOOOING!" Allia screamed. Airlia squeezed her eyes shut. Mari gave a squeal and bounced to her best friend.

"Oh, oh, oh, do we get to ride Vara?" Airlia nodded sadly.

"Yes, Mari, we do." Vara rolled her eyes and stared forlornly at Airlia. Airlia smiled uncertainly. Vara sighed.

'Are we there yet?'

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Okay. Here we go. The roller-coaster ride begins.

Here's the name pronunciation key.

**Name Pronunciation:**

**Airlia:** AIR-lee-yah  
**Nira:** NEE-rah  
**Muri:** Myoo-REE (The 'y' in 'myoo' must be pronounced 'yuh' not 'why')  
**Kukao:** Koo-COW  
**Vara:** VAIR-ah  
**Mari:** MAH-ree  
**Allia:** ALL-lee-yah  
**Murza:** MOOR-zah ('moor' must be pronounced like 'moo')  
**Khaludier:** Kah-LOOD-ee-yay  
**Berudo:** Bear-OOD-oh  
**Druko:** DREW-koh  
**Roki:** ROW-key  
**Jude:** JOO-day  
**Mama:** Ma-MA  
**Papi:** PA-pee   
**Nazahn:** NAH-zah-han (the 'a' in 'han' does not sound like the 'a' in 'and')  
**Lasahn:** LAH-zah-han (think Bahama men when you pronounce the 'hans', yea mon)  
**Rihirramen:** Rih-HERE-ah-men

I'll also post historical notes when needed, just for the purpose of the reader.

Anyways, enjoy! Please review and spread the word!


	2. Kindling for Flame

**Chapter One:**

**Phoenix**

Roki had given me a fire-charm bracelet early on Sun's day. It was made entirely of tarnished silver, with little dangling trinkets in the form of flame; each little flame had a tiny ruby in the center. He said it was for helping him with the cows earlier that week; I had assisted him in herding them back into his ramshackle pen. Although I knew it was far too pretty to have been compensation for such a mundane task, I was so flattered that I showed it to Mama immediately. Papi laughed and said that he was sure that Jude, Roki's son, was behind the matter, mentioned something about an enchanted birthday gift, and then Kukao wouldn't leave me alone all day. He said that it was magic and would allow him to have the power to bend fire. I clasped it onto my wrist and told him that I'd hidden it somewhere he'd never think to look. As I'd predicted, he searched the house high and low, never guessing that I might have actually put the bracelet on. I watched smugly as he tried in vain to defy me. Eventually, he gave up, and decided to go and play with his friends down at the market. Allia and Mari were down at the brook, and, as Vara had gone to the waterfalls to do who knows what, it was only Kirivai and I who took the daily afternoon stroll down the beach.

He was perched on the scarf I'd wrapped around my forearm, cackling madly at whatever strange shell lay shimmering on the ground before us. He never ceased to make me laugh; even in all the years we'd been friends. He seemed to understand me when I spoke to him, and I seemed to have a vague understanding of him—so the walk was pleasant. I spoke, he twittered and cocked his head at me; I sang, he shrieked along. It was a lovely, if not piercing, exchange.

Then, covered in bits of leaf and twig, Druko leapt out of a shrub and frightened the living daylights out of me. Kirivai leapt off of my arm in a rush of frightened feathers, screeching. I blushed angrily.

"Druko! Are you mad?" He drew himself up in a mockery of my stern face.

"Airlia! Are you not?" I looked at him. He smiled. I attempted to push by him, willing my face to remain cool and non-blotchy.

"You interrupted my walk." He stepped directly into my path.

"I know." I tried to walk around him, but a wall of sandy earth sprang up and blocked me. I sighed.

"Oh, please, Druko. Not this early."

"Early? It's noon!" I gasped. He was pulling me into his arms! Well, grabbing my shoulders, but still. My cheeks grew hot.

"Druko, what are you doing?" I looked up nervously. His eyes were very close.

"Something…Nothing… Oh, I don't know." He was acting like a maniac—jumpy, twitchy, with a strange gleam in his eye. "I just…I wanted to surprise you, that's it. Yes! That's it." He smiled broadly, causing waves of sunlight to spill over his bronzed face.

"You…wanted…to…surprise…me?"

"Yea."

"Hey, Airlia, Druko!" I jumped. Druko let me go immediately. That was strange. We both turned and saw Jude traipsing up the beach toward us, his short-cropped black hair wet. It startled us, to see him; he'd been gone for almost a two weeks up in his native country, visiting his grandmother. That's why Papi had guessed that he was behind the bracelet, and had some devious operation planned. Papi said that he was absolutely certain that Jude wanted to marry me, and had left to make my "heart grow fonder," as the old saying goes. I, however, seriously doubted it. Jude was really a rather reclusive person. But then, in retrospect, he had always been nice and friendly to me. I began to doubt myself as I watched him approach. Could he really want to marry me?

"Hey, Jude!" Druko nodded a hello. The tall, lean Firebender joined the two of us, his hazel eyes glinting in the sun as he turned to me, smiling.

"How are you, Airlia?" he asked thoughtfully. Shaking myself mentally, I answered him.

"I'm good. How are you?"

"Fine. Druko?" Druko shrugged. A bit of leaf fell out of his hair.

"I could be better." I giggled. Jude sniggered.

"What'd you do, jump off a cliff?"

"Nah, I just saw Airlia." I raised an eyebrow.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Druko shrugged again, plucking a twig from his hair absently. He studied it for a moment, then tossed it aside, and smiled.

"I have to go help ol' Berudo make gumbo tonight. He never can control the amount of pepper he puts in the pot… I'll see you two later!" He turned, and jogged off down the beach. I could have sworn on my honor that he winked at me and grinned. Jude shook his head gently, chuckling.

"Ah, Druko. I never did understand that guy." I sighed.

"He's…interesting," we both said, at the same time. Startled, we stared at each other, and then burst into laughter. Then, as if it was all planned out, Kirivai landed on Jude's head in a confused flurry of feathers, causing him to jump about a foot in the air and exclaim some things I hadn't thought him capable of saying. The journey home for the three of us was, needless to say, an entertaining matter.

When Kukao saw me and Jude walking towards the house, he immediately got up from his scribbling in the dirt and laughed triumphantly, pointing at us rather rudely.

"Look! It's Airlia! And her bracelet-giving _boyfriend_!" I blushed.

"Stop pointing, Kukao, it's rude! Go inside and help Mama with dinner!" I turned to Jude. He looked a little flustered. "I'm so sorry, Jude," I apologized sincerely. Before I could continue, however, he spoke.

"Oh, no, it's okay, Airlia, really. But…um…could we…take a walk…together?" He looked at me urgently. I met his eyes uncertainly. "Please?" I sighed, giving up.

"Okay, but I really need to get back and help my mother with dinner…"

"Thank you so much," sighed Jude, and he held out his arm obligingly. I placed my hands on it, and we started back off towards the beach.

The sun was sinking fast in the sky, spilling all sorts of reds, golds and oranges in a fantastic display. It was like the cool blue of the day was catching aflame, burning away to reveal the deeper hues of dusk and night. I listened to the soft sound of our feet on the sand, gazing at the horizon with immense satisfaction. There was no other place in the world I would rather have lived than here at Nazahn…

"Airlia…there's something…I really wanted to tell you." Jude's voice caught my hazy attention, and I turned to look into his clear, hazel eyes—almost a green-tinted gold in the fading light. The sharp, chiseled edges of his face were outlined by the sunset; never before had he looked so solemn, or so handsome. It both thrilled and frightened me.

"Um, o-okay, Jude. What is it?" He stopped walking, bringing the two of us to a halt. Then he turned to face me, placing a single hand—a large, rough, hand that could have easily grasped around my arm—over both of mine, still resting on his arm. I shivered at the contact, and his tall, rather intimidating form before me. I knew what was going on, but I couldn't admit it to myself, and I stared up at him in anticipation.

"Airlia, we've been friends for…for a long time." I swallowed. "We've known each other since we were children, and, well… I've realized that…as we've grown older…" He stopped, lowering his head, grasping my hands with his. My eyes widened, and I gasped softly, finally realizing what was happening to the fullest extent. I heard him draw in a shaky breath. "Airlia I…" He swallowed, licking his lips that had grown dry. He started again. "I think I might… I know…" He stopped. He lifted his eyes to gaze down into mine, and transferred my hands from his arm, into both of his. "Airlia, I really love you," he finally said, his voice quiet, his eyes locked with mine. I felt my heart give a great shudder, and my eyes flooded with tears.

"Oh, Jude," I whispered, my brow crinkling. It was true—he did love me. But I didn't love him. I hoped desperately that he'd only wanted to confess his love to me, even while knowing that he was far from finished. More tears slid from my eyes; tears of grief. He, however, took my whisper and my tears as a good sign, and continued, his voice strengthening.

"I-I love you, Airlia. And…and I'd be so happy…" He stopped, closing his eyes with something close to ecstasy. "So happy," he whispered, fingering with his thumb the bracelet on my wrist. My fingers twitched. He'd undoubtedly sent it to Roki for me. He opened his eyes, and looked into mine with conviction. "Airlia… I would be the happiest man in Nazahn…alive…if you'd consent to be my bride." I stared up at him, my heart numb, filling with something close to horror. It wasn't Jude that horrified me. He was honorable, and kind, but…I just didn't love him. It horrified me that I didn't love him, and he'd proposed to me, and now I would have to refuse him. I'd never imagined that a man I didn't love would propose to me… But, of course, life is never perfect, and now, here I was, faced with the prospect of hurting a friend. Deeply.

"Oh, Jude," I repeated, feeling my tears turn into sobs. "I… People told me… I didn't think…" I gasped, looking out at the horizon to collect myself. A ship was pulling into the port up the coast. It was probably a trader's ship, but I couldn't see because of my tears, and the fading light made the shadows distorted. I felt Jude squeeze my hands with his, and I turned back to him, sniffling. I didn't meet his eyes. "Jude… Jude, I can't, I just can't…" I murmured, my heart wrenching itself within my chest. It hurt so badly, refusing him. I forced myself to look at him. His hazel eyes glinted in the low light of late sunset.

"You…can't…?" he repeated, gently. He leaned closer to me, rubbing my hands slowly with his thumbs, looking down. He stared at our hands for a very long time. When he finally lifted his eyes, I felt the tears come afresh. I could see how hurt he was, all the pain I'd just caused him shining inside those two striking, endless hazel plains. "…Airlia…why?" I gasped, choking on my words.

"Jude…I…" I swallowed desperately. "I just…I just don't love you, Jude." His dark brows creased together. I cried out, sobbing. "Oh, Jude, please! Don't!" I squeezed his hands with mine, feeling my heart wrench again. I could see his eyes begin to tint red with the beginnings of tears. "I just don't love you in the way you want me to, and…and I can't marry you…" I pulled my hands from his strong grip, rubbing them together nervously. Jude stood there, motionless, looking down at his own hands.

"And…and that's…that's all?" he asked softly, his voice strained. I took a deep breath. The ship in the distance had long been docked.

"Yes," I whispered. Jude sighed somberly. When he lifted his eyes to look into mine, they were dim. I could see the dark trail of a tear on his left cheek.

"Well, thank you…for telling me how you feel," he said, his voice sober. I looked at him sadly.

"Jude…do you—" He motioned with his hand.

"Please, just, go back home, and help your mother with dinner." I turned to leave, wringing my hands. Without even glancing back at the dejected Firebender, I ran back down the beach, my vision blurred with more tears. I wept silently, staring at my feet, watching the little sprays of sand they created when they hit the ground. Papi had been right all along, and here I was, unprepared, hurting one of the greatest friends of my childhood. I continued running, lifting my eyes to find the familiar shapes of buildings in the distance. I found them, but the shadows they cast were illuminated strangely. Flickering, almost. I gasped.

Fire.

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I hope you've enjoyed my first chapter; yea, it's taken a while to get it up, but ... I need reviews to keep up my morale for posting new chapters, so ... review! Please review. Tell your friends about this story, if you like it! The only way for an author to continue is to know that her stories are good, so ... Accordingly ... Tell me what's up! INPUT BUENO.

Anyways, thanks for reading! Love ya. Stay sexy.


	3. Sparks of Fire

**Chapter Two:**

**Broken Wings**

Jude's panting breath beside me was really all I was aware of other that the flames in the distance that were steadily growing clearer. He'd joined me, and now we were both running down the beach in horror, the two of us putting aside our petty problems for a significantly larger one. I could see roofs aflame, and hear the mad crackling of the tongues of wicked fire, but it hadn't really registered in my mind that Nazahn was burning to the ground. My energy was leaving me fast, and I felt my lungs burning with the effort to keep taking in breath, but I willed my legs forward, despite the fact that I was falling behind. Waves crashed behind us, fire roared before us, my legs were crumbling beneath me, and suddenly, an enormous burst of flame spat into the air from what was probably the marketplace. I screamed, tripped over a piece of driftwood, got up, sobbing, brushed myself off, and continued running. Jude had stopped at my scream, but when he saw that I was relatively okay, he continued running, forcibly ignoring my growing sobs. The fire was now an enormous, glowing blob.

"Jude!" I cried hoarsely. "What's happening?" We'd reached the path through the dunes to get back to town. Jude was running in front of me, and I was wiping my face frantically with my forearms.

"I don't know!" he shouted back, without much enthusiasm. It sounded false, in a way, but I assumed that he was as much in shock as I was, and disregarded it. I tried to run faster, feeling my legs start to buckle beneath me, and then, all of a sudden, Jude stopped, and I ran up beside him to greet the worst sight I would ever witness.

Nazahn was in flames. Jude and I were horrorstruck as we stared on at the apocalyptic wasteland. Every building was on fire in some way. My eyes widened as I saw people dashing across the street, belongings in their hands. The kiosks and stands of traders were crumbled, smoldering ashes; the marketplace, a ways down the road, was glowing so brightly that the flames could be seen flickering from our standpoint. I noticed with angry revulsion a little girl, only a toddler, standing alone in the middle of the street, wailing for her mother. Before Jude could stop me, I ran up to her and knelt beside her, hugging her close, hushing her, damning in my mind the flames and all the damage they were causing. I looked up at the glowing, alien world around me, which was blurred by fresh tears. I clutched the girl tightly with no idea what to do. And then a dark shape obscured my vision. It was Jude.

"Airlia… Come on, we have to…we have to get out of here," he said nervously, glancing around. The flickering flames now outlined the sharp lines of his face. He looked almost corpselike. I stood, holding the child. She was bawling loudly.

"Where are we going to go?" I asked frantically over the cries of the child. "Where are…where are our families?" Jude looked at me, his brow gathered, his eyes desperate.

"I don't know, but we have to go, now." I stared into his hazel eyes, which were suddenly hard and stern stone.

"Are you sure you don't know what's happening?" Jude looked at me solemnly for a moment, and then focused his gaze on something behind me. I tried to crane my head around, but Jude pushed past me, an angry scowl set on his face.

"What is the meaning of this?" he cried, his voice cracking with emotion. I turned, confused. My eyes grew wide as I recognized amongst the waves of heat an armored soldier. Jude was talking to him. In fact, Jude seemed to be frightening him a little bit. I gazed on in horror as the two of them held a hushed conversation. Then Jude came back over to me, pressing a firm hand onto my shoulder.

"Jude, what—"

"Come with me," he said, his voice emotionless, pushing me with his hand. I obliged, looking up at his face. It was somber and ashen.

"What's…what's going on, Jude?" I asked softly.

"I… I don't know." I fixed my eyes on the burning marketplace we were slowly approaching.

"Yes, you do," I said quietly. We continued walking. Jude didn't answer. The little girl's wild sobbing had turned into heavy, dribbling sniffles. I held her tighter.

"A siege," said Jude finally. I jerked my head back to face his.

"A siege? But wh—"

"I don't know anything more." His hazel eyes flashed angrily. I stared at him for a moment before turning my stunned gaze back on the glowing shops of the market. Then I noticed something that made my heart start to pound frantically in my chest. More soldiers.

The moment we entered the vicinity of the marketplace, five soldiers rushed over to detain us. One tore the child from my arms. She began to scream again, this time reaching out for me. I yelled, trying to lash out at the kidnapper, but two of the others grabbed my arms and held them static. I spat on the face of one of my captors. He cursed at me, scowling, but Jude shot him a nasty glance before he could do anything else. That was when I noticed that Jude wasn't being held back. Before I had a chance to do any proper wondering about this matter, the two unoccupied soldiers addressed him with a bow, and looked respectfully into his cold, emotionless mask of a face.

"General Nikko," they said in unison. I gasped before I could restrain myself. Jude's dark, noble brows arched menacingly.

"I stopped going by that title years ago," he spat. "Now tell me. What is the meaning of laying siege to a harmless, defenseless town on the coast of an entirely peaceful—not to mention neutral—country?" One of the men stepped forward.

"We were under orders, sir. Orders we didn't dare refuse."

"The orders of whom? Tell me," he commanded, his look one of pure venom. The soldier looked pale.

"I… Our troops were under strictest confidence, sir."

"Tell me now!" roared Jude. The soldier swallowed, then leant in close to Jude, whispering something in his ear. Jude's eyes widened, and he drew back.

"Any orders of his would be null and void, man!"

"He believed this town to be a prime target."

"A target, yes! But a threat? Not to him! It couldn't have possibly been a threat to him!" Jude's eyes flashed onto me for a second, then back to the soldier. "What have you done with the villagers?" The soldier bowed low.

"Most have fled. Some we've captured." Jude's face grew hard and cold as ice.

"You have my orders to release them."

"Sir, if I may, you said you gave up your title." Jude raised his eyebrows.

"Yet you didn't refuse me before, now, did you? Release them." The soldier seemed to have a slight epiphany. He made a discreet gesture to his comrade, and then the two of them apprehended Jude. His face grew stricken. "Unhand me!" he cried.

"You are under arrest for treason against the government, Nikko Jude," said the other soldier in a deep, reverberating voice. I cried out.

"No! Let him go!" My captors tightened their grip on me, looking to the soldier with the deep voice for further orders. He spoke.

"Take her to the slave traders. I'll decide what to do with this one later," he said, nodding to Jude. "His father was a well-known military leader, despite his banishment. I'll have to consult with the commander before any action is taken. But the peasant girl can go." I glared at him, struggling in vain against the viselike grip of the soldiers that detained me. The lieutenant and his partner took Jude away, and then my own captors jerked me into a walk, marching me off towards the harbor on the southeastern end of Nazahn. The ship I'd seen on the beach at dusk hadn't been a trade ship pulling into port. It had been a signal of siege, and ultimately, war.

And now I was to become a slave.

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	4. An Iron Touch

**Chapter Three:**

**Iron Jaws**

The trip overseas on the Fire Nation battleship was miserable, as I'd expected. Apparently spitting on the face of one of my captors wasn't the best idea in the world. I was thrown almost immediately into what was probably the darkest, smelliest, moldiest dungeon in the entire craft, got fed once a day with equally moldy, stale bread, and was given just enough water to keep me alive. There was no form of latrine or toilet in the dungeon. I couldn't bathe. It was an incredibly filthy life—one that I knew I could never get used to. In short, I was on the verge of death—diseased, and wasting away—when the ship finally pulled into a port. By the rough hands of my captors, I was thrust into daylight for the first time in what seemed like years; and, in the same moment, got a chance to look at myself.

My longscarves—the long ties of cloth I normally wore in my warm home village—revealed most distastefully the slight protrusions of my ribcage and hipbones. I bit back a bitter laugh as the soldiers led me across the rough, charred, and ash-covered steel of the deck. I'd always wanted to lose a little weight, hadn't I?

I tripped over something on the deck, and my toe immediately began to throb. I looked down. It was gashed open. The soldier behind me shoved me onward. Choking with pain, I moved forward, knowing that debris was getting into my foot wound. I'd probably have to find a way to get rid of my toe. I knew there was no way a slave-trader was going to heal my sliced toe. Plotting ways to amputate extremities, I moved onward, trying to bite back the bitter hatred I harbored for my captors. Lashing out at them now would be useless. I was too weak. Then I smelled it.

Food. Real food. Some sort of meat, possibly vegetable stew, cooking on a stove somewhere… My mouth watered, and my stomach clenched itself up into ten knots. It was a moment before I was aware that we were approaching a large building, crafted entirely out of some sort of crude metal. The smell grew stronger as the building grew closer. I had to try extremely hard to stay focused on putting one foot in front of the other; I didn't want any of my other toes to be sliced open.

Before we reached the building, a door opened, and a large, well-dressed man stepped out onto the deck. The delicious smell wafted right to my nostrils, heavy and rich with all sorts of wonderful aromas. I almost fainted.

"May I help you?" he asked, his voice gruff with the false politeness. My captors wrenched me forward; I felt as though my wrists and neck were going to snap due to the force of the movement. My head was pressed down; my long, tangled locks fell around my face. One of the soldiers spoke up.

"We captured this young woman at a siege." Absently, I wondered what had happened to the little girl, back at Nazahn. Where had those soldiers taken her? What had they done to her?

"And are you proposing that I take her as a slave?" The man's ugly voice echoed in my mind. I kept my face staring at the ground.

"Buy her from us. We'll negotiate as soon as you consent to take her." There was silence.

"Very well. She looks as though she could be good for labor. She has more meat on her bones than others I've seen." He clapped his hands. I heard footsteps patter towards us. "Take her to the third block. See that she receives food and water." My mind filled with visions of the stew that still laced my nostrils. I felt my arms lashed behind my back by a rope, and was kicked forward by some new captor. I moved on to my fresh fate.

The third block was, in essence, a giant dungeon with multiple cells, side-by-side, in which slaves were held. After being handed a bowl of water and a piece of bread, smeared with some sort of smelly cheese, I was thrown into a prison cell with four other women. Almost immediately, I saw most of them begin to eye my food hungrily, like wolves of people. Two of them actually began to move towards me with a rabid gleam in their eyes. The fourth woman, who looked a little healthier than the other three, stepped forward, extending an arm to detain her two comrades. Her pale blue eyes flashed in the darkness.

"Leave her be. She needs the food more than we." I stared at her for a moment. She nodded to me. I ate my ration ravenously, and downed all but a drop of my water without pause. Wiping my mouth with my arm, I noticed that she was staring at my foot. I looked down. My toe was swelling with all the debris contained within it. I endeavored to hide the appendage, but, with a movement swifter than a falcon, the woman had knelt by my side, and was holding my foot in one of her hands. I swayed, off-balance, and sat down on the dungeon floor.

"Wh—What are you doing?" I murmured, my voice raspy from lack of use. She was holding my foot in both of her hands now, examining my toe.

"Hold still," she commanded, and she reached her hand over my water-bowl. She pulled the last droplet of water from the container, and, hovering it across to my foot, wrapped it around my injured toe. I gasped as I watched the water remove the debris from my toe—bits of ash, splinters of wood—and couldn't believe what I saw as my skin closed up before my very eyes. The water dissolved, along with the dirt and debris, and I flexed my freshly healed toe, still disbelieving what had just occurred.

"How did you…?" I asked, my voice soft, betraying my confused amazement. I looked from my toe, to the hard, worn face of the healer. She smiled. A soft glow diffused her face. She must have been beautiful, before she was sold off as a slave.

"My name is Maemi. I am a waterbender. Please understand," she muttered, gesturing to her companions, "the actions of my friends. None of us receive enough to eat here, and we are all slowly starving. I wanted to extend my hand in friendship." I blinked. She continued in her soft, but firm voice—a voice that I would grow to respect and trust. "We all must learn to work together; it's the only way we can stay sane." I stared at her blankly.

"My name is Airlia… and I thank you… but… Can you tell me … what exactly we do here?" She sighed.

"Work. Labor. Until someone buys us off." I frowned.

"But… what kind of work do we do? How can we tell when someone wants to buy us, if we are in these dungeons all the time? And what about—"

"Don't worry, my child, I will teach you everything."

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Chapter Three! Exciting, yes?

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	5. Tough Love

**Chapter Four:**

**Steely Comfort**

I learned very quickly that Maemi, although she was kind, had a very hard soul. She had been through countless trials in her life, each etched clearly in the premature lines of her face. Each trial still governed her actions; she couldn't go a day without remembering at least one, she told me once. I found that she hardly ever smiled, and when she spoke, it was normally for counsel and advice, and seldom for comfort. But when she did smile, and when she did comfort, it was in the absolute purest, most sincere form. She was a very sincere person; she had a true sense of self, and never carried herself contrary to what she knew she was. And I grew to respect her immensely for that reason alone.

With Maemi as my guide, I learned the ropes of the dock-prison. We worked below the docks every day—in the Pit, as the other slaves called it—bathed in the cold, slimy half-light afforded by the vents above us. Some days would be hot, others rainy, but we worked in the Pit nonetheless, drowning in our despair. It was Maemi's comforting presence that supported me during those endless days. It didn't help to satiate my desire to return to my home, or to see the clear, blue waters of a clean seashore, but her companionship soothed my stay. It was she who helped me grow as a person—taught me things I'd never known in my calm, collected home life.

I learned how to meditate on my past, and future, to calm my nerves and endow my body with strength. It cleaned my mind, and kept my thoughts positive. We did this every morning, before we went to work, and after we ate our moldy rations. She showed me the exercises, inspired by waterbending, that she used to keep herself fit and energetic, despite the damp darkness of the prison cells. I learned, in the clammy, smelly nights of the third block, about the tendencies of men, and love, and the fickleness thereof. I discovered that not all people were untrustworthy, but that I should nonetheless save my trust for those I felt were most reliable.

"Never put all your eggs in one basket," I remember her saying to me one memorable night. "If you place all your trust in one person, or thing, or feeling, it will betray you. Only bestow to yourself that immense relation of faith." I would never have been able to cope without her guidance. She taught me to protect myself in the prison, from the harsh glances, comments, and gesture around me; helped me learn how to keep my food for myself, and get over my feeble, gullible, sheepish nature when it came to handling fellow prisoners. I felt stronger around Maemi, and it was because of her that I survived.

As time went on, my heart grew harder, and my thoughts grew deeper. The prison Airlia was slowly replacing the Airlia of Nazahn—I had turned into an alert, cunning creature that could fend for itself, unlike the sluggish, wide-eyed, innocent thing I was in the past. Sometimes, when I had time to myself, it grieved me to think of the changes that were taking place in my soul; but it was necessary for my life to continue. If I hadn't adjusted, I would have surely died in the first three weeks of time at the slave-dock. And so, as the days went by, I meditated, exercised, ate my moldy rations with confidence, and labored alongside Maemi, my foster-mother, knowing all the time the truths of life and living with the drive that knowledge instills.

Through Maemi, I eventually met Sen, the earthbending giant of a man who lived in the seventh block, and oversaw the laborers from time to time, due to his repute with the slave-traders themselves. My first impression of him was a giant, and accordingly, he was an enormous man—dark, and tall, with a hard, swarthy face and muscles bulging out of every conceivable place possible. But where his figure was intimidating, and even downright frightening, his heart was as fathomless as the ocean. I never knew a person who felt kindlier, or warmer than Sen—even Maemi, whose heart could even be described as cold, couldn't match up to him.

There came a day during the middle of my stay at the slave-docks that I was removed from my labor block, and thrust into the cold, underground kitchen blocks of the prison. I was separated from my beloved guide, and remained, for days, at a loss as to how to handle myself. I reverted back to pre-prison Airlia, frightened by everything, unable to cope with anything. But even in my hazy state, I realized that the kitchen blocks were treated better than those of the laboring class. We were given healthier, more sustaining rations, and longer periods to sleep. This was because we were the ones responsible for keeping the entire operation alive; we cooked for all of the slaves, overseers, and soldiers.

Towards the middle of my first week in the kitchens, I began my meditations and exercises, and soon found my mind to be calm, cool, and receptive. My cooking improved, with the help from my fellow kitchen-slaves. Cunning Airlia flowed back into place, knocking Innocent Airlia back into the shadows once again. Through craftiness, forced gentility to the soldiers, and downright luck, I was bumped up to become one of the head kitchen-workers. Alongside my fellow leaders-of-operation, I oversaw the cooks with my Maemi-inspired cool temper. There were times when I lost it, again, and depended on the gentle reassurance of the Head Cook—who I found was none other than Sen, the giant earthbender. I had previously had no conception that Sen was the Head Cook; but then, one day, when Innocent Airlia was gnawing at the bit to attack my calm mind, one of my fellow head kitchen-workers told me about the Head Cook, who was apparently very kind and understanding, because he was a slave like us. So I went to see this so-called kind man, and it turned out to be Sen! I couldn't believe my eyes, when I saw the giant bending over a pot of stew like it was the dearest thing in the world. He immediately offered his counsel, and I found myself filled with the warmth that Maemi had seldom offered—it was the warmth of understanding. I had found a new mentor.

Where Maemi was cool, and stern, he was warm, and wise. It was during my days in the kitchen that I learned opposing lessons to those of Maemi's—lessons about the general kindness of man, and that, despite a few operations like the one here, most men were willing to accept and understand. I found some of the things he told me slightly difficult to believe, as we slaved side-by-side over the enormous stew-pots for the overseers. But he was a gentle man, and I listened to him with just as much respect as I'd harbored for Maemi; after all, grease-covered-giant isn't any less intimidating than sweat-covered-giant.

The night before I was bought, Sen told me something clairvoyant that I would never forget. We were sitting in the prison kitchens, long after the hour that I was supposed to be in the kitchen-cell I slept in. The firelight of the stove flickered behind Sen, and I remember the spiky stubble on his chin, the fierce gleam of his hard eyes—the glisten of the grease and sweat on his shoulders.

"Airlia," he boomed, his deep voice gruff and soft. "I don't know if Maemi told you this, while you were under her counsel; but if she did, I will reiterate. I sense that the time for your departure grows near. Always remember, dear girl, to trust yourself fully. Never, and I will repeat, never trust your master, for he has purchased you as property, and will not treat you as anything more than property." I knew this, but I listened to him nonetheless. Did he take me to be that naïve? "Do you promise that you will heed this counsel?"

"Yes, sir," I murmured softly.

"Good. When thoughts fail you, remember, as a slave, to always keep your head to the ground, and your thoughts to yourself. In this manner, you will remain a dignified slave—"

"—But a slave nonetheless," I remarked gently. Sen's face softened.

"Dear girl, you remind me of my daughter, with the spark in your eyes. Mind that fire, child, or it will spread, and become uncontrollable." Somehow, I felt as though his eyes were staring into my soul, into my future. And it disconcerted me. How would the spark in my eyes grow to be uncontrollable?

"What do you mean, sir?" I asked, frowning. "What do you mean by 'the fire in my eyes will spread' and 'grow uncontrollable?'" The great man laughed softly, a guttural, base, hearty sound that would never be replaced in my memory.

"Mind your fire, Airlia. Mind the passion inside that lively soul. It may become dangerous, and wild."

_An uncontrollable inferno._

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	6. The Night of Fire

**Chapter Five:**

**A Night of Fire**

_The sea. It stretched out black before her—black as the obsidian rock-shards she used to collect with Vara. The sky was a calm blue, streaked with gold. The gold flashed fiery against the black, and she glanced down the beach, her eyes squinted against the warm, but chill breeze that touched her face._

_It wasn't a breeze. It was the brush of a palm; a strong, warm, rough palm, with long, gentle fingers, worn from use, and heated against her skin. She closed her eyes in bliss as the fingers slid against her cheek. They trailed over her eyelids, passed lightly across her lips, and smoothed around her skin to cup her chin. She sighed, opening her eyes. _

_Hazel. Hazel plains, gold and green, brown and amber, laced with the love she'd always wanted to feel for someone, always dreamt of knowing. The sky washed with gold, flushed with red. It was just before her, that love… _

_Fire. Fire sprang between her and the hazel plains of Love. She gasped, and shrunk away, writhing as the flames surrounded her. But she felt them inside her, consuming her. Controlling her. She screamed, but no sound escaped her lips. She flailed, but her arms refused to move. She ran, but her feet remained planted on the ground. A passionate fancy overtook her, but her face remained stolid; her mind cried out into the night._

_The black ocean squirmed, convulsed, and a wave of darkness poured against the sky. It quenched the flames in the midst of their wild, iniquitous dance, and Airlia fell to her knees. A soft, cool, yielding surface of red accepted her, and she collapsed into it, relieved to be of her own person. It was then that the smell of the sea enticed her nostrils, and she turned around, perceiving the storm, the forest, the rich aroma of fire, and passion, laced within its oceanic depths. _

_A face swam before her eyes—a face without a face, looking at her with blank, staring eyes and lips she'd once imagined in a dream. They formed words to her—words she couldn't understand, words she couldn't hear, comprehend, or read in the forms they outlined. The face was threatening, but comforting; gentle, yet, at the same time, violent. Without familiarity, she knew something of this face in her soul. Her heart filled with an immense, indescribable feeling as she recognized the features without knowing whom they belonged to. Pity drenched her deepest emotion; compassion flamed inside her. She was moved, and reached out to caress the pale, cold cheek—but it vanished just before her fingers made even the slightest contact. The cool, red surface beneath her melted away, and she began to fall; fall away into oblivion, never to return._

I woke up from an extremely strange, disconcerting dream. My heart was pounding, and my spine tingled with the intense fear, confusion, and indescribable feelings that the spirit-images of my sleep had induced.

I stood from my "futon," if it could even be called a futon, and paced to the bar-lined edge of my kitchen cell. Gazing between the cracks, I imagined what today had in store. What lessons would I learn from Sen? Would I see Maemi? How much soup would be in the rations? I ran a hand through my ragged hair, sighing, and turned my no-doubt sunken eyes down the moldy underground kitchen-corridor outside. The dream drifted its crafty, nonchalant way back into my mind. What had it meant? Had it even contained a meaning? Of course it had a meaning; most dreams of that nature did… But I was too tired to contemplate the meanings of dreams. It had been so long since I'd actually had a dream not pertaining to the prison that it didn't even matter to me anymore. Besides, it just seemed like another reiteration of the night that I was captured. I'd had what seemed like hundreds of those dreams before.

I looked down the opposite end of the corridor, sighed again, and turned back to my futon, sitting down on a lopsided edge, rubbing my temples. I thought of doing exercises, but put the idea in the back of my mind, and decided to try and go back to sleep until the guards woke me up. I lowered myself down against the lumpy cushion, and closed my eyes, hoping that my nap would be dreamless.

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Comment and Review, please! I like analysis. What do you think so far of the storyline?

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	7. Exchanged

**Chapter Six:**

**Out of the Fire**

A rustle of activity down the corridor of the kitchen block roused me from my—thankfully dreamless—bit of sleep. I blinked to clear the blur from my eyes, and pulled myself to reality. I sat up. Finding that I had a crick in my neck, I rolled my head around gently in an effort to subdue the pain. Rubbing my shoulder, I prepared myself mentally for the guards to come and shout at me to "MOVE!" as they did every morning.

Sure enough, the footsteps came, and I moved my face to glance out my barred cell window. My eyes fell, however, on the face of a clean-looking man, dressed in imperial Fire Nation garb—a grand contrast to the usual, unshaven features of the guard I saw every morning. He nodded off to someone at his side, and the door to my cell was clinked open.

Sen walked in, with a knowing, yet gloomy look on his face. As he approached me, I realized what was happening. My eyes widened. I gazed up at the earthbender, my heart pounding. He nodded to me, imperceptibly, and held out one of his enormous hands to help me up. I grasped his rough fingers, and he lifted me gently from the futon. I almost believed there were tears in his eyes as he looked desolately at my face. He leant over the tiniest way possible.

"You've been purchased, Airlia." I swallowed.

"I know."

"Take care of yourself."

"I will."

"I know you will."

The imperial servant—not a slave—received me once Sen had led me from the kitchen block. Supervised by the lead slave driver, Sen had explained to the manservant the extent of my work in the prison, beginning with my time in the labor block and ending with my time as a helper under the lead cooks of the operation. The man seemed pleased with my experience, and transferred a handful of money to the slave driver, who accepted it greedily and with a disgusting, sinful gleam in his eye. The whole of the time, my eyes were locked on Sen, memorizing the figure of the teacher I'd respected so much. I never wanted to forget him, or his guidance. I bit my lip, remembering something dreadful. I would never see Maemi again. A pang of hurt ran through my being, and I fought the need to turn from my masters and search the area for my old guide. Tears, which I fought against desperately, filled my eyes.

"She cannot be worth this little, man! I told you, it's extra for the time in the kitchens!" The manservant's cool brown eyes settled on the slave driver, and he answered this declaration quite calmly.

"If you would like to take this issue of the cooking-girl's price up with my lord, I can summon him for you." The slave driver's face paled immediately.

"No, sir, that won't be necessary… I suppose this is enough." His hands twitched around the money. "Yes, this is quite enough, actually; I've just recounted." I bit back a snort of incredulity. What a stupid man.

"Thank you, good sir. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be taking the girl." I was reminded of my situation, and my eyes darted back to Sen. He was looking at me, his clear, wise eyes sincerely regretful to be losing his pupil. I blinked rapidly, subduing imminent tears, as I felt the tapered, clammy fingers of the manservant wrap around the top of my arm. His grip was like death, separating me from the only life I'd known for months. Dropping my eyes and lowering my face, I followed him, if unwillingly, to my fate, remembering Sen's last lesson: _"Keep your head to the ground, and your thoughts to yourself… Remain a dignified slave."_

I knew I'd never see Sen again, but the contrasting image I loved so much—the confusing combination of his greasy, bulging muscles and gentle smile—would stay with me forever. The manservant led me through the corridors, as the slave driver showed him the way. I heard the sounds of the laborers above us, hauling their loads, spending their precious lives doing useless toil. We had left the kitchen block seeming decades ago when we finally came to a stairwell. Ascending the cold metal, with a background of clanks and crashes, I dwelled on thoughts of my future. What was in store for me? Who was this lord that had purchased me? What would I be forced to do under his command?

We reached another corridor at the top of the stairs, and turned down what was unmistakably a metal-floored catwalk, approaching an enormous barred door. I gazed over the side of the railing next to me, and saw, to the horror of my squirming stomach, hundreds of laboring slaves beneath me. They looked inhuman as they worked, responsible for a toil that was, in truth, inhuman. But even as I felt that terror deep in my being, I searched frantically, discreetly, for any sign of Maemi, knowing my attempts were futile.

We reached the door. The slave driver twisted the crude metal handle, and, in an instant, my eyes felt as though they were going to explode. I shook my head, trying to stop the buildup of immense pressure in my temples, wondering what was happening as I blindly followed my drivers. It after a few strenuous moments that I finally realized the culprit of my pain was light. I hadn't been in the sunlight for months on end. Before I could check myself, I lifted my head and looked around.

I was back on the deck. I breathed deeply the air of the outdoors, forgetting the clench of the manservant's hand, my impending future, and my separation from the only comfort I'd felt for months. I drowned in a wave of rapture; the sun was warm. It was warm. Not dark, or cold, but warm, and light.

I must have slowed down, because the manservant shoved me forward with a force not previously used. I bowed my head and trudged faster.

"That is our ship." The manservant's voice was loud beside me.

"Thank you for this business, man," murmured the slave driver. The manservant's body bent as he bowed, and I was turned down a new path, towards my life as a purchased slave. A new sort of labor awaited me—a slavery that would prove itself in strenuous trials, both difficult and long…

I could see no hope on the horizon.

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Ooh. The story continues...

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	8. Extinguished

**Chapter Seven:**

**Back to the Sea**

My new prison wasn't merely a ship. It was a magnificent weapon, filled with numerous stations for fire-based weaponry and catapults hidden under the largest sections of the deck. I was in awe, my eyes fixed on the fierce, jutting precipices of metal, as the manservant led me across the deck. Crewmembers were polishing enormous tools of war, sharpening spears, sparring with one another. I was startled when one began to firebend, but the surprise quickly turned to resentment, and then submission, as I turned my eyes back to my feet and scolded myself for not remaining obedient. The manservant hadn't noticed, and even if he had, he probably wouldn't have punished me, being a servant himself. Of course, he was a Firebender as well, no doubt, and he might have other sentiments regarding slaves; but I didn't really care. I was preoccupied with the fact that I was back on a Fire Nation ship, and furthermore, was to be a slave to some high-and-mighty Firebending Lord.

After swallowing my pride, locking my eyes on my feet, and traipsing across what seemed like a veritable mile of deck, we descended below decks and retreated to a room furnished with rich-looking Oriental rugs. The manservant sighed, turned to me, and spoke.

"You are a cook, then?" I was so busy trying to stay obedient and remember Sen's warnings that I barely heard him, and lifted my head slowly, with what was no doubt a spaced-out look. He blinked, interpreted my blank face, and then reiterated his statement. "Your slave-driver informed me that you cook," he said calmly, nodding his head slightly towards me. I swallowed, and then nodded, not daring to speak. He nodded in response, closing his eyes briefly. "Good." He actually looked relieved.

The door opened with a creaking noise that almost made me jump out of my skin. My eyes darted back down to the floor. I curled and uncurled my bare toes, nervous.

"Ah," came a dominating, self-confident voice. I held my eyes to my feet forcibly. Two well-polished boots clopped their way across the floor and into my line of vision. Oh, dear. Was this my master?

"This is the cook, milord," the manservant informed, bowing as the man entered the room. I lowered my already-bowing stance, bending my knees so that my head was scarcely three feet from the ground. I heard the master contain what was no doubt a snickering laugh.

"Girl, you may rise." I scrambled back to an upright position, and, before I could check myself, had made eye contact with my owner. What struck me instantly about his appearance—and I would never forget it—was the way his lips were curled into a disdainful smirk, and would always be curled into that simpering shape. It was a grin that I found would come to haunt the minds of many men throughout the world.

I blinked, and lowered my eyes once more. This time, he laughed openly.

"Are you afraid to look me in the eye, girl? Or is this some behavior inherent in the cooks of the slave-docks?" I swallowed, wondering if this gave me permission to speak. "You may leave, Suzu." The manservant bowed and exited the room. My master stepped up to me, and reached out a callused hand to lift my chin, turning my face to his. I squeezed every possible drop of courage into my heart, and lifted my eyes to meet his.

He grinned, removing his hand, and this time, the smile seemed sincere.

"You should not be afraid of me. I make it a rule to never abuse my servants, no matter what rank they are." He looked me over, his lip curling in disgust, no doubt at my dirty, ragged clothing and basically haggard appearance. "Suzu!" he yelled. The manservant darted back in. "Take this girl to the bath; have them rinse her. I don't want to eat food contaminated by," he gestured to my practically sodden clothes, "that."

"Yes, milord." Suzu gestured for me to follow him. My new master, however, cleared his throat very loudly. We stopped, halfway to the door.

"Can you speak, girl?" he asked, addressing me. I hesitated, and then nodded in answer to his query. He narrowed his eyes. "What do you call yourself?" I blinked.

"Airlia," I answered hoarsely. My master frowned.

"What is that, some exotic name?" he murmured to himself, his eyes drifting out of focus. I lowered my eyes and Suzu hesitantly started to lead me off again. This time, we escaped.

I figured that Suzu wouldn't mind if I stopped staring at my feet, so I began to actually perceive where we were headed. It was down to an area even farther below decks. I was thinking, however, not about my destination, but the strange behavior of my new master. He'd actually spoken with me? How strange. And he was some Firebending lord—the people who'd destroyed my village and taken me prisoner, turned me to a slave. I wondered; could I ask Suzu who he was? He seemed familiar, in some strange, incomprehensible way. I decided to be brave.

"Master Suzu?" I asked gently. The manservant turned to me, startled, as we continued down the hallway.

"Don't call me master," he commanded. I pursed my lips, uncomfortable with speaking, especially to a Firebender.

"M—Suzu, sir, please tell me… Who is my new master?" We stopped at an enormous metal doorway. We'd arrived. Suzu looked me in the eye.

"You don't know who he is?" I looked at him for a moment, uncertain how to answer.

"No, sir, I do not." Suzu smiled, and, with a glazed-over look of great respect, almost veneration, he gave me my answer.

"He is a great Commander of our noble Fire Nation.

He is the grand and powerful Commander Zhao."

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	9. More Fateful Fizzling

**Chapter Eight:**

**Into the Frying Pan: **

**The Destination of a Fate**

The bath was not remarkable. In fact, it was so far from being even the slightest semblance of remarkable that it is of no consequence to describe. After Suzu—who, based on the way the soldiers addressed him, was actually an extremely powerful part of the machinery of the crew—had handed me over to a tense-looking soldier, I was shoved into a dark corner, having stripped myself of my "clothing." Semi-freezing seawater was dumped upon me. Feeling thoroughly disgruntled, I was commanded, rather than ushered, out of the corner by the aforementioned tense-soldier, who, gritting his teeth and staring at a random object to his right, shoved a raggedy pile of clothing at me and yelled at me to put it on. I struggled into it, and, after I was sufficiently covered, the soldier screamed out after Suzu. The manservant, upon coming into the room, seemed a little irritated at my appearance, because his relatively young face grew stony. Other than that, he seemed satisfied—for Master Zhao—that my old, disease-ridden rags had been adequately removed.

Sopping-wet, I followed him to my quarters obediently, amply subdued from the freezing water that had been dumped unceremoniously upon me. As we approached the servants' living area, I noticed that the gut of the ship was ridden with soldiers, and, as we passed, each fixed curious gazes upon me. I hoped with a ferocious anxiety that there was at least one other person that was female on this ship, even though my writhing insides told me to keep my hopes at a nice, healthy, nonexistent level. I caught bits and pieces of their conversation as we passed them. Apparently, we were headed to some dock that served as Zhao's center of operations. _I can barely contain my enthusiasm_, I thought bitterly. More prison-docks.

We'd reached the servants' area of the ship—which turned out to be the most claustrophobic, two-room corner of mildew-perfumed dankness that ever existed. It contained the salt of the ship, so to speak: the old cook, two tailors to mend uniforms, and one mechanic, in case of dire emergencies with the ship's functional health. Add to that equation me, the scared-senseless serving-girl-slave, and the result is immense confusion along with a strange web of friendship. We couldn't help forming some sort of companionability; we were crammed into the smallest living space imaginable, and frankly, I didn't care. Anything was better than the slave-docks.

Suzu promptly deposited me with the old cook: a small, gentle-looking elderly woman. He then left abruptly to attend to Zhao's interests. I blinked. Frightened, and in the now-familiar state of Old Airlia semi-shock, turned to my companion, who was undoubtedly to become my new mentor.

Almost immediately, I noticed that her face had a tendency to tell more than her quivering voice. Hazel eyes sparkling, she looked at me with the joy of one admiring an object discovered that had been lost for an eternity, examining my face with radiant excitement.

"And you are the little cook's apprentice I was promised?" she asked me, her voice feathery and broken with the characteristic hoarseness of those old as she. I nodded.

"Yes, Mistress." She laughed gently, tickled.

"You may call me Teacher Aneko, my kohana."

"Yes, Teacher." She laughed again, her little form quivering.

"My child, I sense you will learn much from me. Come; I will show you the 'kitchens'." She grimaced. "When the Old Master returns to his docks, you will see a real kitchen. We are going there at this very moment. Has plans to launch his career, that Old Master." She muttered on about kitchens feebly as we walked back through the servants' quarters and exited into a small, hot room, its metal walls upholstered with rust and pans. I looked around in a state of what could be called awe-inspired-disgust.

"Teacher, is this the… kitchen?" Aneko nodded.

"Yes, my dear," she answered, immediately bustling about and prying an enormous, cauldron-like stew-pot from the floor. Her tiny arms seemed as though they could barely support it, and yet, she managed to push it on top of an enormous metal stove that I had previously taken to be part of the wall, seeing as it took up a majority of the small space. It was, in fact, a part of the wall; I eyed both it and the vessel warily.

"What are we going to use that for?" I asked. I gasped. I had spoken without permission! I hadn't checked my urge to speak, and scolded myself for doing so. Aneko chuckled dismissively at my antics as she dragged out another vessel—earthenware, and immensely heavy, said her strained expression and the sound it made against the metal floor. I immediately rushed to aid her.

Together, we managed to move the pot to a position near the stove. The old woman, completely unphased by the previous exertion, calmly removed the lid of the container, revealing pure water. She reached over into the cauldron, and removed an enormous ladle, with which she proceeded to ladle water into said cauldron, all the while murmuring something that I could not interpret.

I stood there bewildered, wondering what I was supposed to do. It wasn't until she had successfully filled the cauldron halfway with water that I was presented with an opportunity of work. She gestured to a pantry door, half-hidden by the pot-and-pan caked walls.

"Kohana, go and fetch me a parcel of meat and a branch of sage from the store-room. There should be a bag of rice in there as well; bring it out if you can find it." I blinked, and obeyed. Stepping cautiously to the door—while hearing what I took to be Aneko's plaintive humming loud behind me—I opened the pantry and walked into a rather roomy store. Immediately, my eyes fell upon a large bag of rice, which I snatched an end of. The sage was easy to find, draped across a rack on the ceiling to dry. I had to stand on the rice to reach it.

The parcel of meat, however, posed a problem. I knew that salted meat could be stored in these temperatures, but I couldn't find anything that was wrapped in parchment anywhere in the storeroom. I must have scoured the small room about five times before I realized that there was more to the shelves than met the eye. I perceived hidden depths behind immediate objects, and began to push things aside that I hadn't realized could be moved. It wasn't until I'd shoved around a few boxes of unknown dried fruit that I discovered a pile of small brown squares labeled in a messy scrawl indicating some form of meat. I skeptically fetched one of these squares, and, sage under my arm, rice dragging behind me, I left the storeroom to find Aneko, with two water-filled cauldrons, and a glowing, growing fire in the gargantuan stove.

This woman was a powerhouse. I couldn't even fathom how she could drag around these huge chunks of metal, especially at her age, and still find the energy and spirit to hum a plaintive song. She heard my footsteps, and turned around, her eyes glinting.

"Ah, kohana. The fire is finally starting to grow."

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	10. Smoke in the Distance

**Chapter Nine:**

**Smoke on the Horizon**

With Teacher Aneko's support, I made it through the few days it took to arrive at our destination. I bonded very quickly with her—quicker, even, than I had with my healer, Maemi—even though Sen would remain the teacher that I had grown the closest to. That, however, did not change the fact that I learned to love Teacher Aneko as well. The old lady was extremely calm, accepting, and gentle, displaying a power of patience that rivaled with the flow of Tao itself. At the same time, however, she was very strict and decisive when it came to her cooking—but I couldn't blame her. It was her way of life, and she was intent on making me understand that fact. After all, it was to become my way of life as well, and she only wanted me to grasp the fact that cooking would come to have extreme power and importance over my very well being. A badly cooked bowl of rice could lead to my downfall—it could have me beaten or even thrown out of a Master's care. Therefore, when I was still on my new Master's ship, I began my apprenticeship by learning just how hot to boil water in order to make rice fluff and stick—a skill I hadn't needed at the prison docks, where a sloppy mélange of ingredients could be passed off as stew. With Teacher Aneko's guidance, I had begun to master the art of rice cooking by our last unremarkable day on the ship.

I remember well when we arrived at Master's port. The memory stands out in my mind as one of my clearest. The port was amazing, in the grandest, bitterest sense of the word—a magnificent center of war, flashing gold and red as I saw it outlined in the light of the sunset on the horizon. Suzu had ushered us from our quarters, and was leading us across the deck. Slowly, the passengers on the ship were filing off onto the dock, but I found myself without the ability to move. I was speechless, on the verge of falling all over myself, unable to wrench my eyes from the sight of the scintillating port. I felt a fresh wave of fear overwhelm my body. It was then that Teacher Aneko took my hand, startling me. I turned to look at the smiling old lady, her wizened little face crinkled with lines that had seen many hardships, her eyes set on the gleaming buildings we were approaching. As I tightened my hand around hers, and followed master Suzu down the ramp to my new home, I knew that she was the strongest person I would ever know. Her touch gave me the strength to go on, as it had when I had first met her on the ship.

The kitchen at Master Zhao's docks was, of course, much larger than the kitchen on his warship. In fact, it wasn't just a kitchen—it was an entire building specifically made for the storage and preparation of food. Teacher Aneko and I had a special living area that was attached to this building; we needed to be close to it as we spent the whole of each and every day cooking for the numerous men around the compound. It was overwhelming, the requirements these men warranted—massive amounts of rice and soup, meat and vegetables, all prepared to a degree that I had never been expected to meet as a cook at the prison docks. I fumbled.

I found that Teacher Aneko, despite her kindness and her gentle nature, was now unforgiving when it came to my cooking. When we were on the ship, she had weathered my flaws. Now, however, my mistakes were punished with sharp raps on my hands or cheeks. She became a different person in the kitchen—that powerhouse I'd witnessed before—and I was forced to bend to her will. The little old woman would look up at me and lecture me on the importance of such-and-such, her hazel eyes angry, and I would languidly reply. There was something inside me, something from the days of the siege that didn't like this control, even though I knew somewhere inside that it was necessary for me to listen. That inner feeling was obviously something I had learned to suppress during my time at the slave docks, but now, for some reason, it was bubbling up again. It scared me. I found myself purposefully making mistakes, feeling that I could get away with them underneath the instruction of another servant, since she wasn't my true master. After I would make these deliberate errs, however, I would feel indescribably guilty, angry with myself for deceiving this little old lady who only wanted to guide me. _In cooking_, I would remind myself bitterly, remembering the sharp raps on my hands and the hissing words called at me from across the kitchen. _All she wants is to make me a cooking machine. But no, Airlia, she wants to help you. You need to cook to survive, now. Your life depends on cooking. And furthermore, you are her student, so you would do best to learn. You know the requirements these men demand. If you don't shape up, and get rid of this attitude of yours, you will regret it. You know that._

Finally, I listened to the lecturing of my conscience, and learned quickly how to fry up a mean tempura in a time I had previously deemed impossible, make miso soup with the skill of a professional, and fry brown rice with savory shrimp morsels specifically for the Master himself. Teacher Aneko was pleased. I was amazed at myself. It seemed that I had actually, finally found a talent, and in the most unlikely of places. And what a perfect talent to have!

One afternoon, after I had prepared some leek soup and fried rice for my day of serving Master Zhao, Teacher Aneko called me to her. She had a dreamy look in her eyes.

"Kohana, could you tell me why you wear that bandage about your wrist? I have never seen you take it off."

I was startled. Bandage? I extended my arms, examining my wrists as though I had never seen them before. A piece of cloth was tied around my right wrist. It had been there so long that I had ceased to notice it. Why _was_ it there? I touched it with the fingers of my left hand, running them along the scratchy fabric. There was something hard and bumpy beneath it. My eyes widened.

Gods, I'd completely forgotten! Jude's fire-charm bracelet! I had tied the dirty old strip of fabric around my wrist at the beginning of my time at the slave docks, in order to hide it from the slave-traders who would have forcibly removed it at first sight! It was a miracle that the displaced fabric had escaped notice until now, finally revealed under the observant eyes of Teacher Aneko. I blushed.

"Oh, my … my wrist hurts, now and then, and I wear this to help it …" I trailed off, noticing Aneko's eyes grow stern.

"Kohana." I swallowed. "I can tell when you are lying, child," she said softly. "Be truthful to me." I breathed heavily.

"I promise, it's just a decoration, a—" Teacher Aneko reached out and snatched my arm into her wrinkled hands, her slow, strong, ever-gentle grip unrelenting, and peeled back an edge of the fabric. A little flame-shaped charm dangled out, a ruby glinting fire-red in the center. Aneko's eyes softened, and she replaced the fabric, returning my arms to me.

"Who gave that to you?"

"Jud—a boy I knew in my village." She looked at me knowingly, suspicion gleaming in her eyes.

"Finish telling me his name, kohana." I was afraid. If I told her his name, she would certainly know who he was.

"His name was … was J-Juden. Juden." There was silence. Finally, Teacher Aneko nodded to me, and, with a gesture of her hand as though she was sweeping me away, left me to my serving duties.

"You may bring the Old Master his luncheon, kohana," she called after me. I watched her small form retreat until she was back in the living quarters of the building, far from sight. I breathed a sigh of relief, and, making sure my rediscovered bracelet was covered—conscious of it now—picked up the tray of food destined for Master Zhao, and left the kitchen building.

Muffled voices drifted down the ostentatiously decorated hallway of the Master's living and planning compound. Inside his greeting room, Commander Zhao was speaking with the steward, Suzu, about a seemingly important manner. His face was turning red with indignation.

"Suzu, I told you not to present the Fire Lord with that information!" bellowed Zhao angrily. The manservant grimaced.

"I did not, milord! I merely gave him the chart detailing the number and status of the prisoners we are holding in the dungeons; it wasn't—" The commander waved his hand, dismissing whatever else the steward wished to say. He closed his eyes.

"Silence, Suzu. My lunch has arrived."

I jumped. I had unwittingly heard a piece of the fire master's conversation whilst I was standing in the corridor outside, my hand barely touching the latch to his ornate doorway. I almost spilled leek soup and tea all down my front. Collecting myself, I opened the metal doorway, and stepped inside, head lowered accordingly so that my eyes did not disrespectfully meet Master Zhao's or Suzu's.

I bustled across the room, placed the tray of food on the table before my master, and bowed low, backing away. Suzu watched me, his lips pursed, as though I had ruined something very important. Master Zhao, however, looked relieved, and immediately began enjoying the lunch I had prepared, starting with the soup. He slurped with relish.

"Suzu, you may leave." The manservant bowed hastily, and left with one last incredulously perturbed glance at my humble form.

I waited in silence as Master Zhao finished off the soup, and sipped his tea with a satisfied sigh. After swallowing a few bites of fried rice, I listened dubiously as the Master actually addressed me. Me, a servant! A slave!

"Airlia, wasn't it?" he mumbled, filling his mouth with another bite of fried rice. I bowed lower.

"Yes, Master." My heart was pounding. Why was he speaking to me? Had I done something wrong? The commander swallowed, sipped a little more of his tea, and beckoned me to him with a large, calloused hand.

"Refill my teacup." I approached obediently, and refilled the small cup without pause. He watched me interestedly. "I like to know my servants' names. It helps me to better understand them." I bowed, and backed up from his table, though not so far this time, in case he needed his tea refilled again.

"Master is very wise, to ask after his servants' names," I said. Zhao grunted, grinned, and nodded, sipping his fresh tea. He smacked his lips.

"I'd like to ask you, girl: what part of the country are you from? Your name does not seem traditional." He bit into a morsel of shrimp. I swallowed.

"I—I am not from this country, Master," I mumbled. He sipped his tea calmly, his lips curling into their characteristic, familiar sneer. I had a feeling that he slept with his mouth in that position.

"Ah. That would explain." He finished off his rice, and washed it down with the tea. "More tea," he said gently. I moved forward, refilled his cup, and moved back.

When he had finished this cup, he leaned back, stretched, and heaved a great sigh. I was silent. Then he stood, beckoning to me that he was finished. I darted forward and snatched up the tray with the dirty dishes, prepared to leave in the flurry expected of most servants. The Master, however, addressed me one last time.

"Airlia, your service pleases me. Inquire of Aneko and tell her that I would prefer it if you brought me my luncheon every day. I will see to it that you are treated with more hospitality from the other slaves." My face flushed with heat and blood.

"Thank you, Master," I murmured. The commander approached me as he had the day I had boarded his ship, and cupped his hand underneath my chin, lifting my face to meet his. I met his eyes with my own. His face softened as a genuine smile graced his features. Then he beckoned for me to leave, crossing the room again to slouch on a cushion. I blinked, and then left in a flurry. Once out in the corridor, I allowed myself time to think. I was his personal waitress now? What had I done that had impressed him? Was I really that good of a cook? My face was burning with my spiteful self-satisfaction and pleasure. I touched my cheek.

_It felt like fire._

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	11. Soot to Choke on

**Chapter Ten:**

**Breath of Soot**

I had barely left the compound when Suzu veritably leapt upon me.

"Airlia, I have been requested to demand that you and Aneko fix and deliver extra food for the prisoners tonight." I blinked, trying to sweep from my mind a flashback of Sen from the prison docks, and nodded to my superior. He nodded back, looking anxious, and continued off down an alley between the buildings at his usual quick pace. I watched his back as he left. The prisoners? I hadn't even known that there were prisoners being held here at Master Zhao's docks until I'd unwittingly heard the earlier snippet of conversation that related to the matter. My curiosity was instantly piqued.

As I made my way back to the kitchen building, I mulled things over in my mind, staring sometimes at the tray in my hands, filled with dirty dishes, and other times at the sea, laced brightly with the midday sun. Would I really be able to face more prisoners, if I had to meet this new demand? And why hadn't I heard about them earlier? If Teacher Aneko and I were really the only cooks in the entire base—which I had come to believe—then why hadn't I been required to fix food for the prisoners before?

While I was washing the ornate tray and dishes in the dark washroom, I thought, biting my lip. Maybe Teacher Aneko had taken the food to the prisoners. Maybe she was the one who always brought them their meals, and maybe she hadn't told me about it. I nodded to myself, satisfied with this assumption. Yes, that seemed like it could be true. Teacher Aneko hadn't wanted to tell me about the prisoners, and she was the one bringing them their rations. But something still didn't settle. Why hadn't she told me? I thought for a moment, and came to the conclusion that she could have forgotten. She was an older woman, after all; maybe she just hadn't thought to tell me.

I placed the dishes on the rack to dry, and left the washroom, sighing heavily. According to my requirements as a cook, I walked into the kitchen and back into the storeroom. I needed to get dinner started immediately for the soldiers in the compound, especially considering the fact that I had to prepare food for prisoners tonight as well. I walked around the dusty pantry for about thirty minutes, collecting the ingredients for a hearty meat stew. This included, of course, plenty of rice, some dried vegetables, and a great mound of salted pork wrapped in parchment. On my way back into the stove room, I dragged out a large metal pot to mix the ingredients in, leaving it beside the manmade water well that had been built into the floor of the kitchen. After ladling it full of water, I picked up the pot and hauled it onto a stove, and dumped in the vegetables, pork, and rice. I watched the concoction simmer for a while, adding spices at all the required intervals, but since it was such an easy dish, I decided to leave it alone to cook, which was safe considering the circumstances.

I washed my greasy hands in a washing-bin in the corner, flinging droplets of fresh water against my hot face to try and cool down. Wiping my wet hands on a rag beside the bin, I decided that I needed to go sit down. I walked through the kitchen and into our living quarters. Back in one corner of the room was my dusty, musky old futon. I sank down onto one of the ragged corners of the cushion and untied my hair from its polite arrangement at the back of my neck, allowing myself to relax for a moment. I supposed that I didn't have to work any more until Teacher Aneko returned, and since she wasn't here, I would take some well-deserved rest. I leaned against the wall, and my eyes drifted shut.

"Kohana! Hurry!" cried a hoarse voice. Startled, I jumped to my feet, frantically scrambling to tie my hair back again. A frazzled-looking Teacher Aneko, dressed unfamiliarly in the cook's professional wear, was carrying a sopping wet tea tray into the living quarters. She rushed through into the kitchen. "Put on your formal garments! Hurry!" she called after me, her voice echoing in the large cooking room. I blinked, my heart pounding. What was the matter?

"Teacher Aneko, what—"

"Go!" I jumped, and ran off across the room, throwing open the trunk that held our working clothes. I dug through it desperately, searching for the cheap formal waitress's attire that matched Teacher Aneko's cooks' clothing and that I wore on special occasions, such as when Master Zhao was entertaining guests. After what seemed like an era, I found it, and pulled it out unceremoniously. As I threw off my drab gray-and-brown cooking clothes and slid into the black and red robes, decorated with the gold-emblazoned Fire Nation insignia, I wallowed in confusion. What was happening?

Teacher Aneko bustled back into the room, and thrust a fresh tray of tea into my arms. It knocked the wind from my lungs.

"Teacher Aneko, coul—" The old lady's brow gathered.

"Take this to Old Master's planning chambers!" She stared at me for a moment, and clucked, irritated. "Oh, kohana, no, no, no…" She bustled behind me and yanked my hair back, tying it in a tight bun. I grimaced. She released me with a jerk. "Now, GO!"

After being practically shoved out the doorway, I made my way as quickly as possible to Master Zhao's planning chambers, still confused as to what exactly was occurring. Nothing had been planned for today. I had checked the servants' chart in the morning, as I always did. Why, then, was I being forced into these clothes of formality? It had been scarcely two, maybe three hours since I'd brought Master Zhao his luncheon, and I hadn't heard anything implicative of formality when I was in his compound!

I almost trampled Suzu as I rounded a corner just before approaching the canvas-covered planning chambers tents, which were set up right beside the compound that contained Master Zhao's living quarters. Careful not to spill the tea, I caught myself and stopped to allow the important steward passage. I noticed that the manservant looked thoroughly perturbed, with a far-off, unfocused look on his face. About five guards, all of whom looked anxious and somewhat excited, were following him. I caught myself before I frowned openly at the sight. Something was wrong. They had all obviously come from the main planning chambers; I hadn't seen them exit, but they all bore the look of men who had been discussing war. I now knew that look well.

I was loath to enter as I approached the heavy drapes decorated with the Fire Nation insignia that were the doors to the planning chambers, fearing something unseen, almost as a child fears the monsters she thinks are inside the dark of night. As a servant, however, I was obliged to follow orders, and I parted the curtains of fabric, gritting my teeth behind my closed lips. I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the dark inside the tent, squinting to better see the contents of the planning chambers, struggling to identify the dark forms around me that were people. I turned to my left, and saw a guard. He looked at me disdainfully. I blinked, jerking my eyes away from him, having behaved disrespectfully. They fell on the tray of tea I was carrying. I blinked again. Oh, gods, where was I supposed to take this tea? Teacher Aneko hadn't told me what…

"Good. Maid, bring that tea here." I had to tense all the muscles in my body to keep myself from jumping and spilling the tea all down my front. I lifted my head as far as I dared, looking towards the direction that the voice had addressed me from. I caught a glimpse of the pointed-toed boots so classic of the soldiers and commanders of the Fire Nation, and bustled forward, placing the tray of tea on a slightly damp table that had been righted rather sloppily. I bowed low to the master before me, and knelt to straighten the alignment of the tea table, bowing again as I rose from the floor. I caught the sight of more pointed-toed boots to my right, and the sound of heavy, hissing breathing coming from one of the owners of the boots. Fighting the urge to look into the faces of the unfamiliar men around me, I leant over the tray of tea and poured the man a cup of it, finishing my duties as a servant. I presented the steaming cup to him, and he received it graciously. As I backed out of the presence of the master, who was now sipping the tea with pleasure, my curious urges got the better of me. As I retreated into the shadows of the chambers, where I was expected to wait until the tea was finished or needed refilling, I cautiously lifted my eyes to glimpse the man I had served.

I recognized him. I couldn't place my finger on where, or even how I had seen him before, but I recognized him. He was an older man that Master Zhao, shorter, a little potbellied and with the weathered look of wisdom on his face. He was definitely a guest, and part of my initial confusion at the tea bringing dissipated with this realization. I was still unable to place him, however. A great, quick sigh of discontent met my ears. As my face was hidden in the darkness, I turned to see the face of the owner of the boots I'd seen to my right.

I recognized him as well, and, in that recognition, realized whom the older man was. Jude had told me about both of them, but the description of this second guest was a little more striking. I stared at the scar-faced, forsaken prince of the Fire Nation, and for some reason, his real appearance matched none of the pictures I had formed in my mind. For one thing, he was younger than I'd imagined—scarcely older than me, it seemed—and that struck me harder, even, than the actual appearance of the scar over his left eye. I had started to examine the haggard folds of said scar when my gaze actually drew his, and I darted my eyes away. My respectful humility, however, had not been fast enough, and I met the prince's eyes for a painful second. I tried desperately to hide the blush of shame that threatened to fill my cheeks.

It was then that the guard beside me touched my shoulder. I jerked around, not meeting his eyes. I could still feel the prince's gaze on me, and felt uncomfortable until it was gone.

"Servant, you are needed in the kitchen; Suzu has just informed me." I nodded to the guard, and left the chambers in a bustling mass of cheap robes. Once outside, I clutched my burning face between my hands, overcome with shame. I had been so wrong to look at the faces of my superiors. Moreover, one of them had noticed! The humiliation singed me like flame. I could still feel the prince's gaze blazing upon me. I closed my eyes, bathed in disgrace. The vision that waited behind my eyelids, however, was none other than that of the prince's eyes themselves! They were intelligent, staring eyes, golden, laced with intrigue—eyes that I had no business meeting in the first place!

I groaned, closing in on the kitchen building. I was a horrible servant. What would Maemi say if she knew that I was thinking about a master's eyes? What would Sen think of me if I told him I couldn't stop feeling the burning trail they had left on my face? What would Teacher Aneko do if I told her the indignity of my actions?

Yet I could still feel the prince's eyes turn to me, his fiery glance meet my own, and the feeling smoldered inside me, mixing with the ashes of my humiliation.

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I love this chapter. Ohh, I love it. ... XD. Can anyone guess the episode into which I have begun to cunningly weave this fanfiction? XDDD.

So, what did you think? Are you BURNING for more? cough cough more bad puns cough

If you like the story, please spread the word... Tell all your friends about it! They don't even have to like Avatar; just let them read it!

And please, leave me a lovely review to look forward to! I get so excited when people review... Thanks to those of you who have been reviewing faithfully! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH, you wouldn't even realize...

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	12. Flame Rekindled

**Chapter Eleven:**

**Hazy Nostalgia **

I was flushed with shame the whole time it took to return to the kitchen compound. I was disgraced. There had to be a way to quench the flames in my burning cheeks before I faced Teacher Aneko—I couldn't let her know what had happened, and if she saw me in this state, she'd surely ask questions. I gulped in a few deep lungfuls of air just before I opened the door to our living quarters, swallowing down my shame. I patted my cheeks nervously, smoothed my waitress's robes, and, drawing in a long, soothing breath, reached for the metal door latch. Clenching my teeth, I opened it quickly.

There was Teacher Aneko, hunched over one of the massive stoves, adding this and that to the stew that I had started cooking earlier. I noticed that two other pots had been set to boil on the stoves as well. As I approached the Teacher, I was overwhelmed by the greasy stench of cooking meat—even thicker than usual. I bustled over to help with the obviously daunting task that faced us. Teacher Aneko felt me approach, and thrust a spoon at my wordlessly. I grasped it obediently, setting to work with a pot of stew. After all, these were rations not only for the soldiers—these were extra rations for the prisoners as well. Over the sounds of sloshing, boiling stew and crackling fire, I spoke, taking my mind off of the toil that lay before us.

"Teacher Aneko?" I asked loudly, stirring stew, squinting through the greasy air as a droplet of sweat trickled down my neck.

"Yes, kohana?" responded Teacher Aneko, waving away a great cloud of steam so that she could peer up at me through her little wrinkly eyelids. Her powerful, wizened old hands continued adding ingredients knowingly.

"Master Zhao has requested two things of me today."

"Is that so?" Teacher Aneko sprinkled some spice into a nearby pot. It bubbled.

"Yes." I gulped. The thick, hot air was sticky in my throat.

"Well, tell me what he said."

"H-He wants me to be his personal waitress—" I turned my head away from the food and coughed, a sneeze tickling my nose from the billowing steam. "His personal waitress," I continued, sniffling in the meat-scented air. "Suzu told me that he also wishes for the prisoners to have extra rations tonight." I spoke the last part very quickly as the strong smell of pork meat laced my nostrils, and I felt the need to sneeze again. Aneko had moved, and was now crouched before the great furnace in the corner, where she was fueling the fire for the other stoves. She stood, wiping her hands on her apron.

"I see. You will have to help me bring the rations to the prisoners tonight, then." I nodded solemnly, hardly imagining what such a trip could imply.

It was an hour before the prisoners were due for their rations. The food was simmering, ready to be served to soldier and slave alike. I was called by Suzu to run one last task before my prison-duty—to bring Master Zhao some sake. "Sake?" I asked, before I could restrain myself. Suzu had blinked, unperturbed. "The Master says he will need some shortly." With that, the ever-stranger steward had bustled off, leaving me to mull in confusion all over again.

The day itself had been very strange. After my infamous tea-run of disgrace, I had seen soldiers mobilizing to ships—ships that were completely prepared to set sail. I wondered what exactly was happening. Was Master Zhao still entertaining his royal guests? I fetched his sake, and departed hurriedly, rushing to his personal compound. Somehow, I wanted to see those guests again; new faces intrigued me. Besides that, I wished shamefully that the prince would still be there. For some reason, I desired his glance on my face. My cheeks burned at the thought.

When I arrived, however, no one was there. I peered around lazily, stuck on my task, carrying sake. It was then that I heard a great rushing noise, and jumped as I saw a burst of flame flare up over the left side of the compound. I stared for a moment, fascinated by the fire, startled, confused. Then I started for it at a pace that surprised even me. What was driving me so? The sake in the tray in my hands clattered. Bursts of fire erupted before me, my feet padding desperately beneath my cheap robes. I had reached the barricaded wall of Master Zhao's training arena. I approached a side entrance cautiously, hearing more bursts coming from within the great stadium, seeing simultaneous blasts of flame light up the walls around me. I pressed myself up against the earthen wall, and inched over so that I could see just inside the arena, hidden in shadow.

I gasped. The tray in my hands clattered as I jumped in surprise. I saw Master Zhao. Never before had I seen a look so fierce, so full of arrogant, condescending hatred on the commander's face. I hadn't even thought him capable of such an angry, conceited hate. I twisted around to see at whom he was gazing. My heart did four turns in my chest as my eyes fell upon the forsaken Fire Nation prince. How could my master hate him so ferociously? I watched the young prince's face contort with fury, the scar over his eye twisting into hideous shapes as he bent fire at my master, the flames shooting from a point just inches away from his fists. His lean muscles tensed beneath his sweaty, flushed skin, which had earlier been so pale. My throat grew dry. It had been months since I'd seen a male my own age, and this wasn't exactly the best situation to be reintroduced to them—especially considering his veritable lack of clothing. I turned my eyes forcibly back to Master Zhao, who looked large and ungainly, graceless beside the more slender form of the prince. The prince was muscular as well, but he made Master Zhao look dark and rugged, swarthy and destructive. It was strange; I had never before beheld him in this light. He spouted flames from his fists and cried out gutturally, rushing through the prince's attack. The latter fell backward as the former barreled down upon him, yelling hoarsely, drawing his right hand back to give the final blow. I was dangerously enthralled, unable to pry my eyes from the horrible sight. At the final moment, the prince twisted around, tripping the commander off of his own feet. He regained the offensive. I watched, hypnotized, as the prince's lips curled into a knowing smile, and he bore down on the master, flames spitting from even his feet. Finally, the commander mirrored the prince's previous position on the ground. I stared in horror, waiting, expecting my master's face to be singed with flame—almost desiring it, in order to erase the mask of hatred that had formed upon his features. The prince cried out. Flames shot from his fist. I watched in shock as the fire cleared.

Maser Zhao was untouched. He blinked. My lungs strained with the breath I had drawn and held back.

"Next time you get in my way, I promise: I won't hold back." The prince turned around, leaving the commander disgruntled on the ground.

My heart thumped loudly in my chest. Why hadn't he…? I gasped, making a desperate effort not to scream. Master Zhao had—he was going to attack the young prince! And he had his back turned!

The potbellied old man that I now recognized to be General Iroh stepped suddenly into my line of vision, blocking the flames. He pushed the master back across the ground. The prince cried out hoarsely in incredulity, twisting around to face the treacherous master.

"No Prince Zuko! Do not taint your vict—"

"Airlia?" a timid voice addressed me. I turned around, my eyes wide, discovered. Teacher Aneko.

"Teacher! I—"

"Hush, child. Follow me quietly. Leave that sake." I blinked, startled, and looked down at the sake I had forgotten about.

"But Teacher, I—"

"What you have done is of little matter now," she whispered, as though she was reading my mind. "We can analyze it later. Now, come. We must bring the meal to the prisoners." I blinked again, then knelt, placing the sake on the ground by the entrance, resisting the urge to peer back into the arena one last time.

I followed Teacher Aneko obediently back to the kitchens. We fetched the food wordlessly, and began lugging the smallish pot of stew down to the dungeons. Suzu met up with us halfway there, looking anxious as usual, but somehow relieved at the same moment. The man confused me to no end. He added to my confusion by offering if he might carry the pot for us, uncharacteristically deigning from his high horse of being Master Zhao's steward. We, however, refused amiably, stating that we were entirely capable by ourselves, and Suzu left, looking even more relieved.

The prison itself was very small, in a shallow underground area of the docks—hence the reason it was called "dungeons." We entered noiselessly. The prison was one room, with a corridor between two walls lined with a few filthy cells. The corridor between the two solitary walls of cells was cramped, and the two of us with the pot could barely fit inside. We walked to the center of the small hallway, listening to the few prisoners rouse wordlessly from their stupor. There must have been a smell, but it didn't affect me, as I had become drenched in my memories of the prison-docks. I understood how these prisoners felt, in a way. But I, however, had been a prisoner of labor, and had never experienced the suffering of being a solitary, idle slave, as these prisoners were. Teacher Aneko cleared her hoarse throat, and spoke in a gentle voice.

"I have brought your rations. Tonight there will be more than usual." A whispering clamor arose. I was reminded of wind through the trees back in Nazahn—the wind during the rains of summer. I willed my emotions to control themselves, and walked over to help Teacher Aneko collect the prisoners' soup bowls. Ragged, dirty hands pressed them through the slots at the bottom of their barred cell doors. I tried to avoid meeting their pitiful eyes as I started collecting bowls along one wall, staring instead at my right wrist, wrapped in its cloth.

I reached the furthest cell on the left wall, the last bowl, and knelt to receive it. There was, however, no bowl that awaited my retrieval. I looked up. The prisoner was huddled in a corner, and had not moved the bowl so that I could collect it. I looked for Teacher Aneko; she was a ways down the right wall, speaking comfortingly to a different prisoner. The thought suddenly, randomly crossed my mind that these people were probably refugees, captured as I had been, and I felt an immense wave of compassion fill my heart. I fixed my eyes back on the hunched, ragged form of the man in the cell before me, and called out to him in a soft voice.

"Sir, excuse me, but I need your bowl. I need to fill it. You will have more food tonight." The man shuddered, rousing a little. A hoarse, rasping noise escaped from his hidden lips, and I shivered, somehow frightened. I swallowed, bit my lip, and called to him again. "Sir, please. I'm here to help you." The man grunted softly, and I heard the crackle of congestion in his chest as he turned around, breathing in gentle wheezes. He was sick. My brow clenched a little as he moved the small distance to the door of the cell, a ragged shadow, dirty, filthy, miserable in his suffering. Never before had I felt so deeply attached to a prisoner. I knew that the reason for this was because I finally understood, and identified with him, as I had once been a fellow comrade in misery.

The man's face finally drifted from the shadows and I looked at his ragged, gaunt, unshaven profile as he slowly retrieved his bowl from the floor. He coughed, the congestion erupting in his throat, and I listened in pain as he wheezed to capture his breath, his lungs incapacitated by whatever illness he had. Finally, he was able to press his bowl through the slot, and I collected it quickly, my heart unable to face any more of his suffering. I rushed back to the pot of stew and slowly filled each bowl, bringing each, one by one, to its respective owner. The soup was hearty, and each prisoner's eyes widened and lit up at the sight. Some even whispered blessings to me just before they began to slurp the warm sustenance like starved dogs.

Finally, I had returned to the sick man once more. Aneko was engaged in another conversation, only just serving her first bowl of soup. I shivered as I carried the bowl down the left wall, not wanting to face the suffering prisoner again. I felt that, based on my own trials, I had somehow known him forever—and I didn't want to recall my time as a prisoner by looking at his worn form again. When I reached his cell, I was startled to find him right up at the bars, his dirty face pressed close to see when he would receive his rations. The scent of the soup had permeated the prison-hold, and I knew he was dying of hunger, just like all the other prisoners. They were so pathetic; they reminded me of dogs, and I could recall feeling that way at the prison-docks.

I knelt before the grimy steel of his cell, the warm bowl of soup in my hands. He eyed it hungrily. I placed it on the ground, prepared to push it through the slot for him to fetch it. He, however, was finally eager—too eager—and reached out a filthy hand to snatch it, missing in his desperate attempt. I jerked back, and felt a slight, sudden tug at my right wrist. I looked down. One of the man's grubby fingernails had caught on the rag around my wrist. I choked as I watched the dirty strip of cloth unravel itself as the man wrenched his hand away. With a soft tinkling of metal, the fire-charm bracelet fell from its prison, the little silver flames shining merrily, the rubies in the center gleaming with a glitter reminiscent of real fire. I stared at it for a moment, unable to move. The prisoner was silent, presumably focused entirely on the food. I knew he wouldn't try and steal the bracelet from my wrist, but I didn't know what to do; if I left the prison with this bracelet visible, what would the soldiers do? What would master do? It was obviously of Fire Nation make, and—

The prisoner's clammy hand had closed around my wrist. My stomach clenched itself in fear. I couldn't even gasp for breath I was so frightened. I tried to pull away, desperate to keep that bracelet, which was my only reminder of my past life. The prisoner's grip, however, wasn't strong like Teacher Aneko's, and I escaped easily. In fact, his grip had almost seemed gentle. I wiped my wrist disgustedly on my robes, and stared fearfully at the prisoner's face once my hand was safe. But instead of meeting with angry, ferociously contorted features, as I had expected, my eyes fell upon a face smoothed with miserable incredulity.

"**Airlia?" **

Even though his voice was cracked with emotion, hoarse from his congestion, and raspy from disuse, it rang like a song from a dream long forgotten. I stared at the ragged man, and our eyes slowly locked together. They were clear, hazel eyes—almost a grayish, green-tinted gold in the dim light. I noticed the sharp, chiseled edges of his face, hidden beneath his patchy beard. I moved my hand to brace myself against the floor, the fire-charm bracelet tinkling.

And it was then that I knew.

**Jude.**

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If you like the fiction, that is...?

Please? pouty face


	13. Tattered Pasts

Hello, world.  
It's 2011, and I'm not sure if you even remember this story. I barely do.  
As a result, I've completely forgotten where I was taking the plot, so I'm just starting back up from scratch.  
There's something exciting about taking something old and making it new. So here goes nothing!

* * *

**Of Wind and Rain  
**An Avatar: The Last Airbender Fanfiction

* * *

**Chapter Twelve****:** Tattered Pasts

* * *

My heart was pounding.

"Jude." My throat was dry. I clutched my wrist.

"What are you doing here?" he rasped. I glanced over at Teacher Aneko, but his voice was too weak to carry.

"I was sold here," I murmured.

He stared up at me with sunken, unblinking eyes. "I was sent here. To be punished."

I heard the congestion crackle in his voice, and couldn't imagine it. This was Jude. My Jude. And he was dying.

A hot tear dripped down my cheek. "Jude, you're sick. You need help."

He chuckled. It quickly turned into a fit of coughing. I realized I was clutching the iron bars of his cell, pressing my face to the metal.

"They won't help me," he choked. "He wants me to die."

"Who wants you to die? Master Zhao?"

Jude licked his lips and nodded. "Of course. He's a heartless bastard."

Heartless? Was this the same Master Zhao who'd showed me kindness? Who'd smiled down at me like I was familiar, even important?

"I can't imagine that Master Zhao wants you to die," I whispered.

"He does. And honestly, I wish I already were."

My heart throbbed and I grimaced at him, shaking my head. A tear splattered onto the bar in front of my face. "Don't wish things like that!" I hissed. I glanced back at Teacher Aneko, who was finishing up her rounds, then turned to Jude and noticed the uneaten second bowl of soup growing cold by his knees. "You should eat that."

He picked it up and gulped it down, fast.

Then I heard Aneko's voice. "Kohana, finish up your rounds."

Jude's clammy fingers touched my right hand, which still clasped a bar of his cell. "Do you have to leave?" he whimpered. "Please don't leave yet."

Worried, I pulled my hand away and looked nervously around the dungeon. "I think I do."

"Please come back. Please help me."

I wanted to. I needed to help him. But I didn't know what to do.

"I'll come back in the morning, when Teacher Aneko is asleep," I whispered, getting to my feet. Aneko was already cleaning up the bowls and gathering our kitchen things together to take back to the main compound.

"Don't forget," Jude coughed. He doubled over and choked on his words, hacking.

I walked down the corridor of the prison to fall in line behind Aneko, closing my fingers around my wrist. I fingered a fire-charm.

I wouldn't forget.

* * *

(Short, trying to get going again.  
I wonder where it's gonna take me.)


	14. Out of the Ashes

**Of Wind and Rain**  
An Avatar: The Last Airbender Fanfiction

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen:** Out of the Ashes

* * *

I couldn't sleep. I didn't know what to do.

How long had Jude been imprisoned? How long had he been sick? He'd obviously gone untreated for quite some time. I wondered if he even had a chance at getting better.

I stared at the dirty iron ceiling. Water was collecting in a corner, feeding the bloom of rust that stretched from one end to the other. I sighed.

It felt like I was living a nightmare. My past life seemed like a dream, something from which I'd inevitably woken. My life as a slave was the real world: harsh, unyielding, full of terrible surprises. And I couldn't even sleep tonight to escape to a different dream.

I rolled over on my bed and clutched my pillow, feeling my heart start to pound. Imagine meeting Jude here, of all places. Meeting him again for the first time after that night. It was stupid to think about, but I couldn't help remembering…

_"Airlia, I really love you." _

Why had everything gone so wrong? I shoved my face into my pillow, knowing it was pointless, knowing that screaming or moaning or crying or whatever else would help nothing. But I still did all of those things.

His soft voice echoed again in my mind. _"Airlia, I really love you." _

"Shut up!" I screamed into my pillow. "Shut up! Shut up!" I pressed my forehead into the lumpy cushion, hard, as though the force would push the voice out of my head.

"_I-I love you, Airlia."_

"It doesn't matter!" I moaned, hearing my muffled voice. "It doesn't matter anymore! It can't change anything!" My eyes pressed against hot, damp fabric. I felt more tears seep into the pillow, but I couldn't stop crying.

I pulled back from the pillow, staring at it, letting the tears stream freely down my face. "It doesn't matter how much you loved me, Jude," I whispered. "Love is pointless."

* * *

The sun hadn't even risen when I stole Aneko's keys and ran out onto the docks. I didn't know when she would wake up, but maybe I could make up some kind of excuse if I needed to.

I really hoped I didn't need to.

I snuck between the buildings of the compound, paying careful attention when I moved past the places Master Zhao and Suzu frequented. Everything was eerily quiet. I guess it was too early for much to be going on.

There was the arena where Master Zhao had dueled the young prince. I remembered the fire flashing around their gleaming bodies, the fierce hatred in the air. Master's dishonor. I shook my head, moving on.

Finally, the dungeons.

I pulled out Aneko's keys and fumbled to find the right one. Just how many buildings did she have access to? _Click._ That one. The door opened with a creak, and I followed it inside, down the stairs.

The prisoners roused themselves, but I was here to see only one. I walked quickly to the end of the row, to Jude's cell.

"Jude, I'm here," I whispered into the bars. I stared, wide-eyed, into the murky darkness of the cell, so far away from the light of the doorway. I couldn't see anything. "Jude?"

A rattling noise rose up from a crumpled lump on the floor.

"Jude!" I grabbed at the bars. Aneko's keys jangled on my wrist. I stared at them.

No. She couldn't.

I tried a key in the lock on Jude's cell. Nothing.

Then the next one. Nothing.

The next one.

"Come on, please, come on." My left hand clenched around the bar while my right fumbled with the keys. "Jude, please," I muttered.

None of the keys were working, and the other prisoners were starting to notice what was going on. I heard one of them start muttering.

"Just a few more…"

But none of them worked.

I stared at the shuddering heap that was Jude. "Jude! Get up!" I whisper-shouted. "Get up!" But he merely shivered and drew another rattling breath.

What do I do? Who can help me? I frowned into the darkness of the cell.

_Master Zhao._

* * *

It's not easy to start back up on a story you've completely forgotten.  
Luckily, you never really know where a story is going in the first place.


	15. Dying Flicker

**Of Wind and Rain  
**An Avatar: The Last Airbender Fanfiction

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**: Dying Flicker

* * *

Commander Zhao thought only of himself.

He enjoyed thinking only of himself, because it meant he reaped all of the benefits of his actions, keeping them to himself. Other people were simply other variables, and many of them couldn't be trusted. The Fire Nation was full of freeloaders who cruised on others' success. Why should he share his achievements with others? Why should he care what happened to them?

He stared out of the window of his personal chambers, watching the shifting darkness of the ocean, the glow of fires around the docks.

_"Next time you get in my way, I promise: I won't hold back."_

Zhao scoffed. Prince Zuko. It was easy to laugh at his childishness now, in the pre-dawn. But even though he pretended he didn't care, he'd been awake all night, unable to sleep after the agni kai. He could still feel the fury knotting in his stomach. The humiliation. The defeat.

His fist clenched and he set his jaw. Zuko had just been lucky. That's all. Next time, he'd show him _real_ firebending. Scary firebending. He'd make Zuko never want to firebend again.

He realized that he was craving some tea.

Across the room, there was an iron stand with grooves running down the sides. He walked over to it, pressing his palm against the far right groove. He took a deep breath, and pushed his hand down, exhaling. The channel lit up, the heat of Zhao's firebending turning it orange, then red. It ran underground and came up on a similar stand in the servants' quarters. Hopefully someone would be awake to see it.

Zhao pulled his hand off of the stand, looking at his palm. This palm had done magnificent things. Some might even call them terrible. He flexed his fingers, noticing many rough calluses, as well as a cut he couldn't remember getting.

With this hand, he would become a legend. He would capture the Avatar, and go down in the history books as the man who single-handedly changed the future of the Fire Nation.

He smiled. _Single-handedly_.

A soft rapping sound came from the door of his chambers. He looked up, pleased and surprised that the kitchen would have responded so fast to his summons.

_They are learning to be punctual._

"Enter," he called. The door creaked open a small bit, then stopped. He frowned, less sure that it was someone from the kitchen. He craned his neck to see who it was.

A soft voice drifted from the cracked door. "M-Master …"

The kitchen girl. He relaxed. "You can bring it here, Airlia." The door opened, slowly, revealing a bowed figure. Zhao noticed she wasn't holding anything. No tray, no tea. He looked past her, perhaps for the old cook, but she wasn't there. His brow creased. "Where is my tea?"

Airlia bowed lower. "I-I … I did not know that Master had requested tea," she whispered. "I came here of my own accord … to ask …" Her shaking voice suddenly cut off. He noticed that she was trembling.

More importantly, he noticed that it bothered him.

He looked away, uncomfortable. "What is it?" he barked.

She made a small, squeaking sound. Like a little mouse. "Teacher Aneko and I w-were …" she swallowed, "feeding the prisoners last night, and …" She cut off again, and Zhao could hear her fast, shallow breaths. He closed his eyes, trying not to notice. "…a-and I noticed that one of them was… really sick." Her hands were clasped together. "Master… if you… I mean, if Master would be so kind… I think he needs treatment. To be treated."

Her voice faded.

Zhao opened his eyes, staring at the wall, trying to ignore the shivering girl in his periphery. "I am not familiar with this prisoner." It was a lie. He knew exactly who she was talking about. Jude. Nikko Jude, the war traitor.

She sighed. It was a soft sound. "Oh."

They were both silent.

Then, softly: "Master?"

Zhao looked back at her, expecting to see her bowed low enough to touch her forehead to the ground. But she was looking directly at him.

He was startled. "Yes?"

"May I bring him some medicine? The prisoner?" Her voice was still soft, but it wasn't shaking anymore.

Zhao sighed, looking at her hopeful, young eyes. He felt no compassion. Just pity. "He will die in prison eventually. You must see that you're prolonging his suffering."

"Please, let me help him," she whispered. "Please, Master."

He couldn't look at her eyes. They were so soft, so loving. He couldn't look at her when he knew he could never understand her feelings. To be able to love someone like this; to care about a suffering stranger. He'd never known such a feeling. He'd never wanted to know such a feeling.

Not until this moment.

He sighed, refusing to acknowledge the warmth that was growing in his chest. He knew it would fade away if he ignored it. It always did.

"Speak to Suzu. I know he is awake by now. Tell him I've sent you. He'll give you access to what you need." Zhao was leaving this compound, anyway. He would be searching for the Avatar, not keeping track of prisoners. A new commander would come. A new commander could deal with Nikko Jude, healthy or not.

Airlia bowed low. "Oh, Master… Thank you, Master…"

Zhao watched the top of her head. She was keeping her face turned down again, not looking at him. He couldn't see her eyes. He didn't want to see them.

"Look at me, Airlia," he murmured, before he knew he was speaking.

She looked up, surprised, her dark eyes wide.

He could see it all there. Her hope and her propensity to love. Her innocence. Her dreams. Broken dreams, he'd wager. And he knew what she saw when she looked at him. A stone heart. Ferocity. Blankness where there should be some form of emotion. Any form of emotion.

But he'd worked hard to kill his feelings. Even now, he was killing the warmth that was bubbling back up.

"You may go," he said.

And by the time she was gone, his heart was cold again.

* * *

I enjoy thinking that maybe Zhao is a broken person.  
And maybe we're not sure why he's broken. Maybe that's why he feels nothing.  
Maybe that's why he's so bad, because obviously he is very, very bad.  
But usually people are bad for a reason.


	16. Glowing Embers

**Of Wind and Rain  
**An Avatar: The Last Airbender Fanfiction

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**Chapter Fifteen**: Glowing Embers

* * *

When I left Suzu's quarters, my heart was pounding, hard, like I was doing something wrong. But I knew that this was the best thing I could do; the thing that was most _right_.  
Still, the crisp packets of medicine felt strange in my hands, like I wasn't supposed to be carrying them. _But I got Master Zhao's permission. I have his permission to take these._

Of course, I'd also scoped out Suzu's key rack.  
The heavy iron prison keys were easy to spot amidst the huge compound keys, as well as the more delicate ones used for the personal chambers. But as far as I was concerned, all I'd really come for was the medicine.

I dashed back to the kitchen compound, where Aneko was no doubt awake, or would be soon. Her keys jangled on my wrist.  
But I couldn't pay attention to that now; I needed some water, fast. I quickly pumped it out of the desalinization tank and into the ladle-pot we usually used to carry soup water.

Sloshing, I dashed back across the docks, heading toward the dungeons.  
As I ran, I quizzed myself on healing knowledge. _Go light on pain meds; don't mix this and that; make sure you read the labels_. I wasn't even sure if I'd be able to get Jude to come to the edge of his cell, but since Suzu wouldn't give me a key, I had no other choice. At least I'd scoped them out.

Now that I knew which key opened the gate to the dungeons, unlocking the door was easy going. I pushed it open, following it inside, and listened to my echoing footsteps as I ran down the stairs and into the cell row.

The prisoners started murmuring again. Too much excitement for one morning, I supposed. But, like before, I was there for Jude, only Jude. I dashed to the end of the block, searching for the familiar lump in the darkness.

I banged on a bar of his cell. "Jude, get up!" I whisper-shouted. He wheezed, and shuddered. "Get off of the floor right now!" The lump moved a bit to the right, but no closer to the front of the cell. "I brought medicine for you," I murmured. "I can help you." I could feel the tears pressing against the corners of my eyes. "Please get up, Jude. Please."

The lump shuddered further to the right. Then it dragged itself closer to the front of the cell. Closer to me. It was coughing. It hacked and hacked. But still it crawled, slowly to cell door. Slowly, slowly.

Jude's sickly face stared up at me in the darkness. "Hello, Airlia," he wheezed. He sounded even worse than before.

I fumbled a medicine packet open, pouring it into a full ladle of water. "This isn't going to taste very good, but you need to try to drink as much of it as you can. Here, come close to the bars."

He pressed his face up against the iron. As I drew close, I could smell his filthiness. It was a familiar smell. "Here," I murmured. "Try to put your mouth in the middle of these bars." He obliged. I reached out a shaking hand to cup his chin. His scratchy beard poked into my palm. "I'm going to try to pour the medicine into your mouth, okay?" He nodded, jerking his head slightly against my palm. "I'll go as slow as I can." My heart was pounding again.

Delicately, I tipped the ladle over, pouring a slow stream of medicine into his mouth. Jude choked at first, and started to cough again, pulling his chin out of my hand. I quickly leveled the ladle, waiting for his fit to stop. But in a moment, his chin was back, mouth open. I started to pour again. This time, he swallowed. Slowly. It was precarious work. If I poured too fast, some of the medicine dripped out of the corners of his mouth. Too slow, and he choked.

Finally, I said "done," and Jude drew away, clutching his throat.

"Not too good," he muttered. I dipped a fresh ladleful of water, holding it out.

"Here, drink a sip of this, then." He put his chin in my hand. I poured the water into his mouth.

"Much better," he gasped.

"I have two more things I need to give you, okay?"

I saw him nod in the darkness.

Now that we had a routine going, the next ladle was easy. I mixed the medicine in, and started off with the right pouring speed. But when we finished, Jude actually gagged. I had to quickly give him a sip of fresh water.

"What was that?" he choked. His choke turned into a cough, and he broke down into a fit again.

When he was finished, I said: "that's the cough medicine."

He bit his lip. "Oh."

I was fumbling open the final medicine packet of antibiotic herbs when the door to the dungeons swung open. It was Suzu.

"The Master needs his breakfast in an hour," he called, his voice echoing in the darkness.

"Yes, Suzu," I called. The door closed again.

I heard Jude scoff in the darkness. "This is shameful," he wheezed. "I can't believe you're serving _them_."

I mixed the herbs into the ladle. "I have no other choice, Jude. I was sold here. I don't have rights." I lifted the ladle over to the cell door. "Give me your chin."

I ladled. He swallowed.

"Still," he continued, once he'd swallowed the antibiotics, "you should do something. Run away. Find somewhere you're respected."

It was my turn to scoff. "Where do I run? I can't get off these docks. It's a naval base in the middle of nowhere."

"When someone leaves, get on a boat with them."

"And leave you here?" My whispers were getting fierce. "I couldn't do that, Jude. I just couldn't."

Jude's hand reached through the bars, grabbing my wrist. His hand was clammy but the touch was familiar. My heart throbbed.

"They're ruining you, Airlia," he whispered. "I can see it. It's already started. You're a shadow of yourself." He squeezed my wrist gently, and I felt his thumb stroke slowly across my skin. "Get away from all of this while you still remember who you are."

My hand was shaking. He shifted his hand, interlocking his fingers with mine.

"You're a shadow, too, you know." My voice was also shaking, barely audible. I squeezed his hand and felt a sob press against my lips. I swallowed it back. "I can't believe what's happened," I murmured.

He stroked his thumb against mine. He said, "me neither," but the words meant something else. They meant, "I love you."

Before I knew I was speaking, I whispered: "I'm getting us out of here, Jude."

He stopped stroking my thumb. "What?"

"We're getting out of here." My heart pounded with the truth of my words. "As soon as you're a little bit stronger, we're leaving."

He pulled his hand away, pressing his face against the bars. "Are you serious?"

I stared at him, hoping he could see the determination in my eyes. I nodded, in case he couldn't.

"You're serious," he murmured. He grabbed my hand again, holding it tight.

My heart throbbed. I knew that this was the worst, and best thing I could do.

The thing that was most _right_.

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Reviews are the reason I keep writing!**

_Thank you so much._


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